Here and There
by Elialys
Summary: "Five times already, he has hugged her, and she has let him. More than willingly. "Remember how this feels. This is real."  And it had felt so real. The warmth of his body against hers, the brush of air on her skin as he whispered in her ears." Post 3x03
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Here and There

**Rating**: T…mostly for the use of one or two swear words

**Characters/Pairing**: Olivia/Peter; Alt-Olivia; Walter

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything, no profit is made out of this story.

**Spoilers**: Up to 3x03 "The Plateau".

**Summary**: Stuck 'Over There', Olivia keeps having vision of Peter, to the point where her true self isn't so dormant anymore. 'Over Here', Alt-Olivia's cover might not survive her encounter with young Ella.

**N/A:** I will not lie, this is my first fanfiction based on Fringe. It is not my first fanfiction, though. I fell in love with this show and those characters, so badly that I HAD to write my vision of what might/should happen during this wonderful 3rd season.

Millions of thanks to my friend and beta, **Em**, for her corrections and suggestions (and general awesomeness).

Enjoy!

**

* * *

Here and There

* * *

**

**\\ ****There**** \\

* * *

**

She sees him everywhere, now.

Every day, too.

At first, she thinks it's going to fade away; that _he_ is going to fade away. Because it is all the results of her breakdown, and he had been mangled with that breakdown, and he would disappear from her mind, now.

But he doesn't.

When she wakes up in the morning, she opens her eyes, and there he is. Looking down at her, his face is calm and relaxed. His lips are curled up into a small, knowing smile. While his eyes warm her up from the inside out. If Frank happens to be in bed with her, she just turns around and buries her face into the crook of his neck.

If he's not there, however, she simply stares at him. She always feels like she could stay like this forever.

He appears to her in the kitchen. In a crowded street. At work. In her car.

Mostly, he remains silent. Sometimes, he speaks. Or move.

"_You can't forget where you're from, Olivia." _

Five times already, he has hugged her, and she has let him. More than willingly. "_Remember how this feels. This is real."_

And it had felt so real. The warmth of his body against hers, the brush of air on her skin as he whispered in her ears.

Twice, he has kissed her.

Once, she has kissed him.

She doesn't feel any guilt doing this. She feels bad for not feeling guilty, though. Frank is such a devoted man, to his work as much as to their love life.

But when _he_ is the room…no one else exists. No one else matters. She feels like herself, during those brief periods of time. She knows she is not crazy.

She doesn't tell anyone about her visions anymore. Because when he's not there, she feels perfectly fine. She barely thinks about it, about him.

Not much at first, anyway.

But now, most of the time, she feels like she's two people trapped in one body. There is the Olivia who adores her work and her fiancé, who smiles all the time and makes joke with her partners. And there's the other Olivia.

The Olivia who doesn't belong here, who is longing for her own world.

Longing for him.

Because each time she sees him, she remembers him a little more. Therefore, she remembers herself.

She's at a crime scene when he appears again.

Their eyes meet, as they always do, and she feels that intense tug inside her once more. She forces herself to look away, though. Charlie is here, and he's already very suspicious.

One of his 'new' favorite games nowadays is to spring unexpected questions on her, about old memories as well as regular protocols knowledge. What he doesn't know is that, since her first small errors and fits of forgetfulness, she has reread all the rules and protocols. She has a fantastic photographic memory, which incidentally has greatly surprised Frank one night. He was pondering about what he could cook for her, and she had recited twenty-three recipes she had once read in a book, six years ago.

Right now, she has a hard time focusing on the job at hand. She sees him from the corner of her eyes. She knows he's here to give her a warning of sorts, or some kind of advices.

"_Do not trust the Secretary. He wants to kill me."_

"_Do not trust the Secretary and his experiment, he wants to use you. Let him believe you trust him, though."_

"_Don't forget me, Olivia."_

She comes closer to him, pretending to want to take a better look at the victim's severed left arm. She looks into his clear eyes. Goosebumps rise on her skin.

"Go to the lab, Olivia. You need to go the lab."

She knows he's not talking about the lab on Liberty Island. As well as she knows she will be there before the sun sets, tonight.

**

* * *

/ ****Here**** /

* * *

**

"You're not her."

Olivia still has tears in her eyes, as she looks, startled, into the kid's face.

"What, sweetie?"

Ella recoils again, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother's waist. "You're not…you're not Aunt Liv," she repeats, her eyes wide with fear, but also with certainty.

Olivia stands still in the middle of the lab, feeling her heartbeat quickening in her chest, despite her best self-control. She is well too aware of the others' gaze on her.

And yet, she cannot look away from Ella's frightened face.

Two months. For almost two months, she has been fooling everybody, including _her_ closest friends. Her lover. Even with the odd moments, the fleeting awkwardness, the holes in her knowledge of this world, her mission has been highly successful so far.

And suddenly, she feels like everything could very well fall apart.

Because of a child.

She knows her game is off, at that instant. She has been trained hard, before joining the Fringe Division. She has always enjoyed life and considers herself a 'cheerful optimistic'. But when it comes to work, she can be more a soldier than an agent; she can kill and deceive without much remorse.

But she had been examining Walter's new results with Peter and Astrid, when she had heard a very familiar voice at the door. A voice she hadn't heard in years.

"_I knew you would be hiding here, for a change_."

She had turned around, to face her sister. Her very _dead_ sister.

No, that's not right. This is not Rachel; her Rachel died seven years ago, during childbirth.

She couldn't stop staring, though, paralyzed. If she was not her, then why did she have the same features? The same smile, the same voice…She didn't look like 'a monster from this Other World', like the Secretary loves to call the people from this Side.

"_What?"_ Rachel had asked, with a small laugh. "_You look like you've just seen a ghost_."

Mere seconds later, she was hugging her, fiercely, painfully. And she had felt tears sting her eyes. _Tears_! She hadn't allowed herself to cry since her death. She could not be weak. And yet…

Rachel had been rightly surprised by the intensity of her embrace, but she had quickly returned the hug.

"_I've missed you too, Liv…"_ she had murmured in her ear, gently rubbing her back. "_And Ella, too. She couldn't stop asking when we'll come and visit you again; I gave in, obviously__._"

That's when Olivia had let her go, taking a few steps back. It was just enough for her to drop her eyes and look at the other visitor.

And she had smiled. Her first real, genuine smile since she had crossed over. Here was another face she knew and loved, dearly.

"_Hi, Ella_," she had said, still smiling.

But Ella did not smile back. On the contrary, she started recoiling, her hand grasping her mother's coat.

"You're not her."

Rachel crouches down to be at her daughter's level, trying to meet her eyes; but the girl does not look away from Olivia.

"What is the matter, baby?" Rachel asks softly, with a note of incredulity. "Why would you say something like that to Liv?"

"She is _not_ Liv!" Ella repeats, louder.

Olivia forces herself to smile. There's nothing genuine in that one. "Who else would I be, sweetie?" she asks, trying to sound more amused than confused, and almost succeeding. "It's the new haircut, isn't it? I admit I still have a hard time recognizing myself in the mirror someti-"

"What did you give me?" the little girl whispers. Her face is pale and terrified, and she's now clinging to Rachel's neck.

Olivia is painfully aware that, despite the fact that there are currently six people in the lab, three of them have not uttered a single word since Rachel and Ella arrived.

That's why she cannot turn and look at them. She knows.

She knows that, in spite of her hard work, of her best performances, they all feel it. Little things that, added up together, make them feel, if not 'know', that something isn't quite right with _her._

And if she looks into any of their faces, right now, there won't be any room left for doubts.

She has to convince the girl. She must convince the girl.

"What do you mean?" Again, her voice is steady, calm, and warm. Nobody can hear her racing heart, though.

"What did you give me, the last time we were at your place?"

Damn, the girl is smart. Of course, she is smart. The Ella of her world has always been very clever, too.

How the fuck is she supposed to know what the Other Olivia gave the kid?

She's thinking hard now; so hard that she can feel drops of sweat starting to form on her forehead. _Breathe, Dunham, breathe!_ She orders herself.

The silence is eerie, getting louder and louder, with every passing second. It can't be a toy; she wouldn't ask if it was a toy…must be something symbolic…something important… If only she knew when and under which circumstances they had met last time!

Knowing she cannot let the silence stretch any longer, for her lack of answer would be their answer, she takes a leap of faith.

"My mom's cross. I gave you my mom's cross."

Which _is_ one of her most cherished possession; her mom gave it to her shortly after Rachel's death, when she had been so down, and depressed, feeling so empty and lonely…

That's something she would give her Ella.

Uncertainty now flows on this Ella's face. Doubts. Slowly, she slides one hand under her shirt, and pulls back a long chain.

On which is dangling a little silver cross.

Olivia fights the urge to let a sigh a relief escape her, as her tensed muscles start to relax. She smiles down at her 'niece', reassuringly.

"You see, baby girl, I'm still the same old aunt L-"

But she should have looked around, after all; especially at Peter.

Because before she can end her sentence, pain erupts in the back of her head, and everything turns black.

* * *

She wakes up with a terrible headache.

Even though her mind is foggy and unfocused, she can't help but think about that time, two months ago, when her Doppelganger had knocked her out.

Her headache had been just as horribly throbbing…and she had been tied up, as well.

Chin again her chest, she blinks repeatedly, forcing her brain to start functioning correctly again, all the while pulling hard behind her, trying to free her hands.

"There's no need to try," an almost familiar voice says, not far in front of her. "I've been told I make the best knots of this universe."

She raises her head. Peter stands there, arms crossed.

Never before has she seen his face so cold and…pitiless. True, she has only known him for two months, but somehow, she had gotten used to his…gentleness. His kind smile, his warm, peaceful eyes.

The eyes of a man in love.

He is no Frank, of course. But she can understand why the Other Olivia has fallen for him.

The time is not appropriate for that kind of contemplation, however.

She's tied up on a chair, in the middle of Walter's lab; on the Enemy's side. And her formally Puppy-Eyed-Boy looks ready to attack and chew on her bones.

Time to put her game face on.

"Peter?" she murmurs, her voice hoarse and weak…which is not a hard act to pull off, truth be told. "Why…what's wrong?"

She knows she's displaying her best desperate face. Olivia's face. _His _Olivia. She has seen it first hand, after all, in her own apartment, while a blond version of herself was almost begging for help.

"_I need to speak to Peter Bishop. He's in danger… Please, I need to speak to him."_

Such an intense desperation. So weak.

Disgusting.

But her well-rehearsed face disappears quickly, to be replaced by a very legitimate grimace of pain. Peter had slapped her, hard.

"_Don't_," he growls, his voice low and furious. "Don't you dare act like her, ever again."

She stretches her aching jaw, containing a moan of pain. Bastard.

Truth is, she might be trained to face a lot of crazy shit in her line of work, she can't help but start to slightly panic. She is a_ universe_ away from her home, from her allies. She seriously doubts Newton is going to help her right now, not after all those times she had reminded him she was the boss.

_You dug your own grave, Dunham. Get out of it by yourself, now._

But she is pretty sure her cover has blown up for good, this time. There might be no use in pretending, anymore, but she will not go quietly.

So she faces him and lets the mask fall. For the first time in two months, she's truly herself in front of him.

She sees his jaw clench, as he instinctively crosses his arms again. He _sees_ her, now.

"Took you long enough," she then says, letting a sneer grow on her face.

She knows he really wants to slap her again; to inflict her any kind of pain, really. She doesn't care.

"What was my giveaway?" she asks, more curious than anything else. She's pretty much screwed, anyway.

He stares at her for another few seconds, before he unfolds his arms once again, and opens his right fist. A long chain falls and swings from his fingers. It's a chain with a silver cross.

Her eyes narrow.

"This, is yours." He says flatly. "Olivia's is around Ella's neck. I guess you shouldn't have let me see you naked."

He does not fool her, in spite of his coldness. She can hear the guilt behind his sarcasm.

Of course he had seen the cross; they had had sex three times. She usually never wears the cross, not in her world anyway, where it would stay well hidden and safe in an inside pocked of her jacket. But since she has come here, she has felt the…urge to keep it around her neck.

That, she knows, is a sign of weakness. And it turned out to be a giveaway. She's furious. She's furious, and scared, and unprepared for that kind of failure.

So she takes it out on him.

A nasty, mocking laugh escapes her, then: "You didn't seem to mind my nakedness at that time, Peter."

His face hardens again. "Shut up."

Truth is, she hadn't fully enjoyed the nakedness. He is not a bad shag, by far. But…each time, she had thought of Frank. And each time had happened within the last two weeks. It had been a mean for her to shut him up when he had been too close to discover something compromising, or was asking too many questions. And boys will be boys...

He was a man in love, and doubts or not, she had been all over him, offering him _her_ body. Never her soul, though.

She is screwed, in every possible way. She has failed her universe, and she has betrayed her man.

"Why should I shut up now, Peter?" she spits with disdain. "Because I pretended to be your Sweetie Pie for a few weeks? Because I slept in her bed, along with you, and you didn't have a single clue?"

"Shut. UP!" he almost yells, his face red and distorted with rage.

But she laughs again. "You were so easy to fool. So _easy_. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes amorously, and whisper your name as if you were my God," she makes a very obvious expression, then, full of pleasure and devotion. "Oh, _Peter…_"

Next thing she knows, he's the one who's all over her.

She registers the pain in her back, as well as the blinding one in the back of her head, again. If that alone is not enough to bring her to the edge of unconsciousness again, his hands around her throat would be.

He's crushing her windpipe, and she cannot breathe, hardly managing to utter a few gurgling noises, as he strangles her.

Through the pain, the panic and the horrifying lack of air_, _she can hear him screaming. "Where is she! Where is Olivia!"

And then he's gone, and she's breathing again. Breathing and coughing. The pain in her throat is a delight, because it's caused by oxygen coming down to fill up her lungs.

There are movements around her; hands pull and push her chair up, and she feels her feet touch the ground again. Still panting, she focuses her gaze on Peter, at the other end of the room. He's clenching his hair with both hands, walking in circles, almost doubled over; he's clearly trying to calm himself down.

She turns her head, to see that her saviors are no others than Walter and Astrid. But there is no more warmth in their eyes.

All that remains is cold anger. And some disgust.

"Thank you…" she manages to breathe anyway, looking into Walter's eyes. But she almost regrets it instantly.

"Make no mistake, Miss Dunham," he says coldly. "The only reason why I didn't let my son kill you is because your dead body would be no use to me. I need you alive to bring our Olivia back from the Other Side, where I'm sure you left her in very bad company."

At this instant, never before has he more resembled his 'Evil Double'.

**

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\\ ****There**** \\

* * *

**

The road leading to Boston is a sad sight.

There's no more green, no more life. All is grey and dead. Quarantined.

She stands near the Quarantine site for a very long time, that first night. She knows all about Quarantine, of course, it's her field of expertise. She has known about those 'holes' in the Universe for years, knows Boston has been in that state for almost two decades, now.

Still, she cannot look away from the frozen bodies, standing forever immobile only five feet away from her. Olivia has been here before. She has seen this devastation. She doesn't care.

To the other Olivia, her true self, it feels like the first time.

And her heart breaks a little more inside.

* * *

The lab is dark and dusty.

She is not foolish enough to turn on the lights. She uses her flashlight instead, thinking fleetingly that she would need to bring candles next time. Because there would be a next time.

Just stepping into that darkened place feels a bit like going home.

Her light glides over a sea of white blankets, each of them covering instruments she would be incapable of using. And yet, she feels drawn to each and every one of them.

As she inspects the room slowly and quietly, the beam of her light stops on a dark figure standing near the desk. She should have been frightened. She should definitely have jumped out and clenched her chest.

She doesn't.

Because it's him.

"Welcome back, Olivia" Peter says softly, always smiling.

And she smiles in return.

**

* * *

/ ****Here**** /

* * *

**

To Peter, Walter seems to be almost more distressed than him over Olivia's fate.

But again, the fact the he is sane while Walter is not, might be affecting his perspective.

Despite the aching, bleeding hole in his chest, he cannot roam the lab back and forth, crying and asking for forgiveness, wearing nothing but underwear. Unlike Walter.

Thank God for small mercies, Walter's sanity is still there most of the time, long enough for them to work on a way to bring her back.

But 'working on it' doesn't make up for the fact that she is not here. She's _there_.

And for two months, he had thought she was on their side. On his side. He had been used and deceived.

He has betrayed her.

The guilt of his actions is enough to keep him from sleeping at night.

When he had gone to the other side with Walternate, Olivia had risked everything to come and save him within two days.

It has taken him two months to even realize that she is still stuck there. Sometimes, he feels physically sick when he thinks of all the things that could have happened to her, in all that time.

After much questioning –and some techniques invented by Walter that are as successful as they are highly illegal and unethical- the Fake Olivia has told them that _she_ is still alive and safe, for now.

He still cannot sleep. He can hardly eat, and the only reason he shaves is because he remembers what Walter looked like before he got out of St Claire's.

Unexpectedly, Walter is the one who tries to 'cheer him up'. Those are his exact words. "I have something for you that might cheer you up."

Peter stares blankly at the man he once called his father. "Unless you're about to tell me you found a way to bring Olivia back within the hour, I seriously doubt that."

Walter lets out a very dry chuckle, his smile disappearing from his lips, as he beckons Peter to follow him: "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, son, but…come and see, quickly."

Curious now, Peter follows him. "See what, Walter?"

"Her, of course," he answers without stopping.

Peter realizes then that he's leading them to Gene. He stops dead, exasperation flooding back. "Walter, why do you want me to see the cow, exactly?"

"What an idiotic thing to say, I am not talking about Gene. I'm talking about Olivia."

Peter can't move as he registers his words. Olivia? How-

"Peter, we don't have all night!" protests Walter from inside the cow's room.

So Peter joins him, not allowing himself to feel the tiniest bit of hope. He looks around. Gene is on one side of the room, while Walter stands at the other side. Behind a very peculiar piece of equipment he has never seen before. It looks like a big piece of glass. He can see Walter's face on the other side. He's looking through it at Gene, a small smile on his lips. "She's asleep."

Peter looks around at the cow. Gene looks back at him, chewing calmly and surely wondering why she's suddenly so interesting.

"Walter," he growls softly, turning back to him. "If you don't explain yourself in the next thirty seconds, I'm gonna-"

"Come on that side, son. You will understand." He's still smiling. It's a sad kind of smile, Peter realizes.

In spite of himself, he feels his heart starting to beat faster beneath his chest. He walks to the place where Walter stands, and come on his side of the 'glass'. He instinctively looks through it, expecting to see nothing but the chewing cow.

His next intake of breath is sharp and loud, as he jumps back, eyes wide.

There's no more Gene on the other side of the glass. Instead, this side of the room his dark, only lit by what seem to be a weak candle light.

And there's a form sitting on the ground, curled up against the wall.

His heart now pounding furiously against his ears, Peter takes a few steps closer to the machine. His eyes are glued to the sleeping woman. Even in the semi-darkness, he would recognize her anywhere. Her hair is red, long and straight, instead of being blond and pulled back into a ponytail.

Olivia.

Or _Olivia?_

He steps even closer, both his hands rising to grip each side of the machine, his nose only a few inches away from the glass. And he stares, with all his might.

She's sitting on the floor, her legs up against her chest. She has wrapped her arms around them, and her cheek lies on her knees. Her long, dark hair flows over her leg; the left side of her face is perfectly visible. Even in her sleep, he can see that her face is contracted, almost painfully.

This is Olivia. His Olivia.

Overwhelmed by a wild variety of emotions, going from relief to pain, to frustration and hope, he turns hastily to Walter. "How…what…how did you…what is…"

Walter looks at him, gravely. "Belly and I created this 'Window' to the Other Side more than twenty years ago. You… My Peter was extremely sick and I _had_ to see what Walternate was doing to save…you."

"This…this is a window_?" _ he turns back, his eyes instantly falling back on Olivia, his Olivia. Here. There. And once more, he's transfixed.

"Yes. I…damaged it, not long after… It was an understandable act of anger and grief. I've been working on it for the last two weeks. I've fixed it so you could…see her. See that she's alive and sound, if not quite safe."

He wants to look at Walter, but he can't. He wants to say something. But he can't. He wants to reach through that window and touch her_._

But he can't.

"What…How did you know she would be here? What is she even doing _there_?" His voice cracks on the last word; he doesn't care.

"It seems that she has taken up the habit of coming to the lab almost every night, now."

_That_ makes him turns around swiftly. "What do you mean, 'she has taken up the habit'? How long have you been seeing her through that thing without telling me?"

"I…don't be mad, son, I have been working on it for two weeks, it's been working on and off, the quality was sometimes really dreadful. I didn't want to show you before I was sure it was going to work steadily."

"Walter-"

"I did see her at different places of the lab; she seems to be looking for something, or someone. I think she's hallucinating, too."

This is too much to process; his exhausted, desperate brain complains by sending a jolt of pain through his frontal lobe, but he ignores the headache, glaring at his…at Walter.

"What are you saying_? _Is she herself? Her Double said she had been injected with a product that made her think she belonged to their world!"

"I know, Peter." Walter raises his trembling hands, as if to protect himself from his booming voice. "But I don't know exactly what her state of mind is like; I've only seen glimpses of her. What I'm sure of is that she has been responding to some kind of… invisible presence in the lab. That's what leads me to think she's hallucinating."

Peter is staring at her again, needing so badly to go over _there_ and to hold her. Just to feel her.

"Whatever she's seeing, it makes her look like…herself," Walter says softly behind him. "She's not lost, Peter. She's still there."

Peter's throat closes up painfully, and he swallows hard, fighting the sudden burning feeling in his eyes, which still bear endlessly onto her.

"Yes…"he murmurs, feeling as elated as he feels defeated. "She's still _there._"

**

* * *

\\ ****There**** \\

* * *

**

She awakes with a jolt, her head snapping up from her knees.

"Peter?"

Her voice resonates through the stillness of the lab.

She immediately realizes that the candle has died out. She's swallowed into thick darkness. She wonders if it's the sudden absence of light that has woken her up.

Once again, when she should feel slightly frightened by the fact that she is in the dark, inside an obviously creepy place, she is not.

She pulls her flashlight from her coat and turns it on, almost expecting him to stand there in front of her, as he so often does in the lab.

But he's not here. She stands up slowly, the beam of her light inspecting each corners of the room. She then goes back into the main room, but there is still no trace of him.

So why does she feel like he _is_ here? He feels so close, at that instant.

"Concentrate on that feeling, Olivia."

She turns around hastily, and there he is. Always in that same dark coat. She starts to smile, but then realizes that he is not. That is most unusual. He always smiles in her visions.

He seems very grave, tonight. Focused. Intense.

"You're almost there, Livy," he says firmly, but always calmly. "It is not this image of me you're feeling right now, and you know it. Concentrate."

And so she does. She turns on the spot, slowly. Her light is still in her hand, but she knows she doesn't need it. What she's looking for is not there, not exactly.

It's _here_.

Her breathing has become slow and focused, as she feels an almost dormant part of her brain awaking within her skull. Strange, intense emotions are attempting to flow back into her, but she blocks them. She needs to stay focused.

Her breathing is deep now, and she closes her eyes, listening to every nerves of her body. Listening to his voice, within her. She turns slightly, as her hands start to quiver. Then it's her legs, then her chest, and soon, her whole body is shaking. As well as the ground under her feet.

But through it all, her trance stays strong and deep. She can feel him; he is here and there, only a few feet away from her. She breathes in, loudly, and she can see him so clearly in her mind's eyes now.

And as she exhales, certainty explodes within her whole being, and she opens her eyes.

They lock instantly onto his, as clear and blue as she has ever seen them.

They are not warm and peaceful, as she has gotten use to see them, those past two months.

They are wide with fright and awe. Haunted.

They're his_._

"Peter…" she whispers.

And then she is pulled, hard.

And the world explodes.

**

* * *

\\ ****Here and there**** /

* * *

**

Peter is still staring at her when the weak candle light completely disappears.

"No!" he shouts, desperation grasping his heart again. He wants to keep looking at her, just five more minutes, _please_.

But he looks through that window, and there's nothing there but darkness.

With a moan of painful frustration, he turns around and hits the wall with both his hand, his aching head quickly doing the same, painfully. The wall feels cold under his feverish forehead. This is madness. How is he supposed to go on, to go through each day, knowing he could see her, but she could not see him? Knowing that she is so close, and yet so far?

More exhausted and defeated than ever, he turns around, leaning on the wall. But he straightens up right away.

The darkness is gone, replaced by a steady light. It comes from the flashlight Olivia holds in her hand.

His own hands are grasping each side of the glass again within seconds, as she stands up, clearly looking for something.

Or someone.

And then she moves. She walks out of sight.

"Walter!" he yells, not caring about sounding crazy. "How do you move this thing?"

Less than a minute later, Walter has joined him and helped him take the window off its 'base'. The thing is way heavier than it looks, but he doesn't care. He holds it at arm's length; as he goes back to main room, looking everywhere for the sight of her.

"Peter," says Walter with a shaky voice behind him. "She surely has left the lab, it is rather late and she may not be herself at this instant."

"She hasn't," he replies, firmly. "She still there, I know it."

He keeps walking, turning, and ignoring the ache in his arms. And then he stops. "She's here! Go get me the base!"

She's standing less than four feet away from him. So close that he would touch her, if he could only reach out in this other world.

She turns around abruptly, and he can see most of her face now. Despite the hair, she _is_ herself. As much as she was, when she had asked him to come back with her, that night. To come back for her.

She smiles, then. But it's not at him. She's looking at something on his right, her left; he turns the window to try and see what she's looking at, but there's nothing. She's alone in this lab.

"Here," Walter pants, and together, they fix the window again. Peter never lets her out of his sight.

She doesn't move. She doesn't smile anymore, either. Her eyes are focused and she seems to be breathing very deeply.

"Oh my, YES!" Walter exclaims suddenly, his voice almost outrageously cheerful.

"What, Walter?" barks Peter, not taking his eyes off her. If only she would move slightly and look up, their eyes would meet.

"Don't you see?" cheers Walter. "Don't you understand what she's doing?"

"Enlighten me." His absolute lack of patience obvious.

She closes her eyes, just then, breathing even more deeply. She does turn around slightly, to finally face him

"She's in _trance _Peter! She is in the perfect state of mind for a cross over!"

"What?" Peter can't help but turn his gaze briefly on Walter, who looks like a kid on Christmas Morning. "Do you mean she's trying to come back?_"_

"I don't know if she is aware of it," admits Walter, his smile fading a little. "Who knows what they did to her, what they injected her with. But I can assure you that she's trying hard."

He returns his gaze on her. She has started to shake. Slightly at first, but soon her whole body is shaking.

He suddenly realizes that she isn't the only one shaking. The whole lab is vibrating, on their side.

"What's happening, Walter?"

"She's opening a door! She is!"

The ground shakes underneath his feet, but it's nothing, nothing compared to the way his heart pounds faster and louder than ever against his ears. While her breathing seems deep and perfectly controlled, his is shallow and unsteady. His hands are tightly griping the window, as the world shakes around them.

And then, she opens her eyes and looks into his. And he knows without the shadow of a doubt that she _sees_ him as clearly as he sees her.

"Peter…" her lips form his name.

That is when the world explodes.

The blast is powerful and ruthless.

He is blown away and his feet leave the ground. He's projected, hard, several feet away, hitting the autopsy table. He falls to the ground with a cry of pain, disoriented.

But not for long.

Ignoring the different aches throbbing through his body, he scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the place where he and Walter were standing, less than a minute ago. He knows he should look around to find Walter, but his heart only beats furiously for one person.

The person lying on the floor, mere feet away from him.

"Olivia!"

He's on his knees again, reaching for her, not caring about the pale color of her skin, or the blood coming out her nose, or from the side of his head. She's here, she's here with him.

And he touches her, then, he grabs her, delicately despite his urgency; he holds her upper body up to him, disbelief coursing through his body, as he inhales the scent of her hair. Amazingly, it is still _her_ scent; he painfully closes his eyes, not even realizing that he's rocking her, softly.

"You're okay…" he whispers. "You're okay…you're back…you're back…"

He is not prepared for what comes next.

Eyes closed, he doesn't realize that she is conscious again. Next thing he knows, she has hit him hard in the chest with her elbow. He doesn't know how he ends up on his back, her hands tightly griping his throat.

He must be more hurt than he originally thought, because he's too weak to get away from that murderous embrace.

She's straddling him, her thighs squeezing him with as much force as her hands around his throat. Her eyes are wide and crazy, confused and pitiless. She's scared, reacting by pure instincts.

"Olivia…" he gurgles, his own hands on her arms, desperately trying to loosen her grip. "Olivia, please…"

Black spots appear in his vision, but he keeps fighting. This can't be real, this can't be happening.

And then she lets out a gasp of pain, and her crazed hold on him slackens completely. She falls on him, and despite his weak and confused state, he instinctively reach for her head, before it can hit the ground.

"Peter?"

He looks up, to see Walter standing above them. He looks like he's just escaped some kind of tornado, hair wild, clothes unraveled. He holds an empty syringe in his left hand.

"I had to sedate her. I'm sure you'll understand. She seemed quite confused."

"You have a way with understatements, Walter…" he manages to say with a hoarse and broken voice.

'Confused' seems a bit feeble, knowing she has just tried to strangle him to death. But he doesn't care.

He closes his eyes again, sliding his fingers in her hair, as he holds her head again his chest. Hoping she can hear how loudly his heart beat, at that instant. Hoping she can sense his gratitude. His admiration.

He doesn't care about her insane reaction, not after all she has been through. Olivia has saved herself.

Once again.

And she's here now. In his arms.

* * *

**Fin**…or not?

* * *

**N/A**: I think this is in pretty need of a sequel (my brain/shipper heart thinks so anyway). What do you think?

I hope you enjoyed, I personally had a blast writing it :D Incidentally, I don't usually write in English (if I do, it's always translation of my French fanfics), but those characters' voices just imposed themselves in English, who am I to complain? ^^ I sincerely hope it didn't show too much!

I would be forever grateful for any feedback, those are so yummy :D Let me know if you want a sequel :)

(PS: My beta pointed out to me that she had the feeling Alt-Olivia didn't have a niece in the Other World. Personally, I got the opposite vibe :D I guess we might know in a future episode!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I don't own a thing, don't get paid, yadayadaaa...

**N/A**: Guys… Thank you SO SO SO MUCH!

You have no idea how much you killed me with all those reviews! I was, and still am, really overwhelmed by the response this story got. As I said, I just arrived in the Fringe fandom, which I'm loving more and more everyday :D

So of course I had to write more. Especially after this week's episode (OMG, who else wanted to slap that b****?). Plus, reviews are like the best crack on Earth. My muse loves them, keep them coming XD

This is shorter, but it's also not the end. It looks like I'm doing a WIP again, whoops. This chapter is also un-betaed. I just don't have the patience right now, sorry for the mistakes/weird sentences!

Enjoy :)

* * *

**Here and There

* * *

**

**Chapter Two**

Dawn is breaking through the windows of the lab when the door opens and closes loudly behind them.

That sound is the only thing that manages to draw Peter out of his contemplation.

"Hey!" Astrid greets them with a panting and slightly tensed voice, as she comes closer. "I came as fast as I could. What's up with-"

But she stops abruptly as she reaches Peter…and the bed on which Olivia lies, Walter hovering over her. He's humming what sounds like an old pop song. Peter looks briefly at the young woman; her face is pale, and shocked.

"This can't be Altivia. She's still at my place, I was with her less than fifteen minutes ago!"

"This is our Olivia Dunham," Walter says proudly, while changing the IV bag hanging near her bed. "It should become more obvious once she's blonde again."

Ignoring Walter's last remark, Astrid turns to Peter, her mouth opening and closing, repeatedly, before she finally utters: "How did you guys do it? When? Why didn't you call me?"

"We didn't do anything," Peter answers gravely, staring at Olivia again. "Surprisingly enough, she found a way to do it by herself."

"Did she now?" Astrid can't help but smile fondly. "If I weren't currently forced to cohabit with her Double, that would be proof enough to me that she's herself."

Peter clenches his teeth, remembering all too well what has happened less than two hours ago._ He_ doesn't know if she's herself, yet.

"Is it…why is she tied up?" Astrid asks. While her voice had been full of relief and excitement seconds ago, she sounds worried again. She takes a better look around at the messy lab, before she stares at Peter with narrow eyes, taking in the bandage on his temple. "What happened here?"

Walter speaks then, using his most boring and monotone voice, all the while going on with his examination. "Olivia seems to have sensed Peter's presence in the lab tonight –from the lab on her side. It helped her focus just enough to open a door. Funny how Peter always has that sort of effect on her, isn't it? The opening of the door was rather violent, which explains Peter's wound and the general mess here. The journey was undoubtedly stressful on Olivia, considering how she tried to strangle Peter as soon as she arrived. I sedated her."

Astrid simply stares at him, mouth agape.

But before she can find something to say after his tirade, Olivia begins to move. She immediately starts pulling on the straps restraining her.

Peter reacts instinctively, leaning down to put a calming hand on her head, as she moans softly. "It's okay, Olivia, you're safe here."

She opens her eyes. They are wide and unfocused. She pulls harder on her straps. "Please, don't hurt me…" she moans. "No more injections, please…"

Her eyes start to roll in their sockets, and she suddenly arches her back.

"What's happening to her, Walter!" Peter shouts, now pushing her shoulders back on the bed as gently as he can, given the situation.

But Walter has already plunged a needle into her IV drip. "I can't tell you for sure, Peter. I would say she's obviously reliving something that has happened to her on the Other Side."

Peter's heart squeezes painfully in his chest at his words, as her muscles relax. Soon, her whole body has become limp.

"Did you sedate her again?" he asks, tensed.

But she opens her eyes then, lazily, and turns her head towards him. "I know your voice…" she whispers.

"Hardly," Walter answers, as if she hadn't spoken. "I just gave her something that will help...make her feel more relaxed. What is your name?"

His question is clearly directed to Olivia, whose eyes don't seem able to stop on anything specific at that instant.

"Olivia Dunham…"

"Good. What year is it?"

"2010…"

"Very good, very good… Which team is predicted to win the NLCS this year?"

"Walter!" Peter snaps, glaring at him. "What kind of question was that?"

"I want to know which one of her personalities is the strongest right now, hers, or the one they implanted."

"You're not going to get far asking for things that are true in both worlds, or about _baseball_." He turns his gaze back to her. She seems to be on the verge of unconsciousness again. "Olivia…when is the last time you saw your sister?"

Even numbed by the drugs, her face contracts. She whimpers.

"Olivia, when did you see Rachel for the last time?"

"Seven years ago…" she murmurs. "Just before she died…"

Peter's heart sinks. This means it is not her; this is not her memories… Astrid puts a reassuring hand on his arm.

But then Olivia speaks again: "Peter…"

He squeezes her hand, maybe too tightly, but he doesn't care. "I'm here, Liv. I'm with you."

"They locked me in the dark…" she moans, looking straight at him, with such despair and panic that it physically _hurts_ him to look at her right now. "I want to go home…"

"You are home, Olivia." He says with a small, reassuring smile, despite the deep ache in his chest. "Where did we first meet, Liv?"

She sighs, and her eyes close again, sleep overtaking her. But one last word escapes her lips before she drifts into slumber. "Iraq..."

"Interesting, very interesting indeed!" Walter exclaims. "She seems to have access to both sets of memories right now. That explains her confusion; she doesn't know who she is, or what to believe."

"Can you make her herself again? Can you wipe the fake memories?" Peter doesn't like the lingering anguish that is resonating in his voice, but he doesn't give a damn about his ego at that instant.

"We can certainly try," Walter smiles. And then: "I will need some of that delicious cake we had once, though. The one that tastes like candy, and is named after it. Remember, Aster?"

Peter closes his eyes, unable to stand Walter's food obsession right now. Thank God for Astrid and her knowledge of Walter's favorite cakes.

"Do you mean the Snickers Bar Cheesecake? From the Cheesecake Factory?"

His eyes glitter excitedly. "Yes, that's it! Thank you, my dear."

"Walter…" Peter growls, his face pale and somber. "For once in your life, can you just _don't_-"

But Astrid squeezes his arm again, and he looks at her. "I'm on it," she says firmly, reassuringly. "You stay here and worry about her."

And that is exactly what he does.

* * *

The following two days are long, exhausting, and oddly uneventful, in the aftermath of what has happened. Mostly because Olivia is asleep during those two days.

A prolonged and 'restorative' (drug induced) sleep is Walter's idea, of course. They untie her, and every four hours or so, Walter would talk to her, directly into her ear, using his deepest voice.

He explains that, given their past experiences in the tank –not to mention his experiments in Jacksonville- she would trust his voice, even if she might not trust the man at that moment.

"_You are safe here, Olivia_"

"_You are in no immediate danger_."

"_Just relax and surrender to the warmth surrounding you_."

That's the general idea.

Peter is not sure he likes the fact that they are forcing those suggestions on her, while she's in such a weak state. But as Walter has told him, rather coldly: "If you don't like it my way, please feel free to restrain her again. I'm guessing that with her level of stress, combined with the aftershock of her cross over, she should be in pain and incapable of being rational for up to nine to twelve days."

So he lets her sleep, and listens to Walter's semi-hypnotic suggestions.

Needless to say that he could use some of this restorative sleep himself. He can't remember the last time he has had a real night sleep. For the past two days, he has been drowsing off on the chair near her bed every time he's alone in the lab with her…only to be awoken a very short while later by an upcoming nightmare (that includes those in his head _and _a very real Walter coming in, singing "Don't Stop Believing" from the top of his lungs.)

He ignores Astrid's advice to go home and get some real sleep. He can't. He wants to be here when she wakes up again.

He wants to be the first thing she sees. He wants to see recognition in her eyes. Trust.

He knows it's selfish, and that he doesn't deserve it. But he can't help it.

So, naturally, she chooses otherwise.

When he comes back from an inevitable bathroom trip, on the morning of the third day, she's not sleeping anymore. She's not even lying down. She has sat up, her legs dangling off the bed. She's looking around, taking in her surroundings.

He freezes at the sight of her. She's awake; she's awake and apparently _not_ in a state of mind that would make her want to strangle people. But he knows.

He knows it might not be her. It might be this other Olivia, all over again. At that instant, knowing the truth will come out here and now, he doesn't know if he can take another blow. Not after all he's been through, ever since he has awoken in a hospital bed just like hers, finally knowing he had been lied to all his life.

He doesn't know if he can bear to see her body, her features, her smile, but undeniably not _her _when he looks into her eyes.

She becomes aware of his presence just then, and she turns her head to face him. He shouldn't have worried.

Because their eyes meet, and she looks back at him.

With haunted eyes.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he might cry. Or not. He could very well cry, laugh, scream, fall to his knees and kiss the ground; it would not be enough to convey the tremendous wave of relief that courses through him when he gazes into her eyes, and it is her soul he sees.

The moment is intense. And awkward. And endless.

Until she speaks. "Hey," she says, quietly.

Hey. To this day, no man –or woman- has found a better way to start a conversation, even in the strangest situation.

He can't help but smile then, a real smile. "Hey," he replies softly, unable to take his eyes off hers.

He can tell she's more uncomfortable than he is, by the way her hands are tightly griping the sheets on each side of her, her legs dangling slightly back and forth, nervously.

To his surprise, he suddenly realizes that _her_ eyes are starting to fill up with tears. She finally looks away, pressing her lips together.

"I can't talk to you right now," she says after a long silence.

Even though her voice is soft and doesn't bear any accusation whatsoever, he feels his heart sink to the ground, his smile vanishing from his face.

He has told himself this would come, when they will be facing each other again. He knows they will need to talk, to be honest and admit their errors –meaning _his _errors. He knows things won't be the way they were before.

Before the Other Side…before the Other Olivia.

He just hasn't prepared himself to the possibility that this moment might come right away. Which is stupid, when he thinks of it. Did he really expect her to be overwhelmed with relief and joy at the sight of their world, of him? It's stupid.

And yet…

He swallows hard, blinking rather rapidly, as he tries to regain control of his emotions. She would need space, of course.

"It's all right," he says eventually, doing his best to hide the hurt in his voice. Because he deserves to be shut down. He owes her that much. "I understand."

But she looks at him again, then, her eyes red, as she's still fighting her tears. She shakes her head. "No, you don't. You can't."

Before having her in his life, he never knew each beat of your heart could be so painful. He clenches his teeth, trying very, very hard to keep his face composed. But he's pretty sure his eyes are as revealing as an open book. "Olivia…"

She shakes her head again, but doesn't look away. "I don't know what to think, Peter…" she whispers, and there is fear in her voice. "When I woke up, this place seemed so …familiar. And yet, a part of me has no idea where I am. I see you, and I…" she chokes then, and brings a trembling hand to her face, averting her eyes. "I know who you are, Peter. I remember everything, what I told you, what…what I feel about you. And yet, I _don't_." She looks up again, and stares right at him, anguish written all over her face. "I'm incapable of knowing what is real. Of differencing what is mine, from what is _hers._"

Despite the fact that it hurts him to see her in such obvious pain and confusion, he can't help but feel a heavy weight lift from his chest.

It's not because of what he has done, because of his betrayal. She can't talk to him because she literally can't process her broken personalities at that instant.

A malicious, jeering voice whispers in his ear that it doesn't change anything. She _will_ know everything soon enough, anyway. But he shuts that voice down.

For now, she doesn't hate him, and that is more than enough.

"It's all right," he repeats finally, softly. Because what else can he say? "We'll find a way. We always find a way, don't we?"

He offers her a small smile then. She doesn't return it.

But it's okay. He likes it better that way.

* * *

**N/A**: Yep, I'll take Olivia's killing glare over Altivia's happy grin ANY DAY!

I hope you enjoyed this, I'm still having the time of my life writing those characters *_* More should come soon, it's already half written :) (some Olivia/Altivia/Peter on the way ^^)

Don't forget the reviews…the muse needs them :D


	3. Chapter 3

**N/A:** Once again, thank you all so much for taking an interest in my story! May it be by reviewing, putting it in your alerts, faving it or simply reading, thank you! We WILL get through this awful hiatus, we will! (and then, they have to bring Olivia baaaaaack)

As promised, this chapter features Olivia, Altlivia and Peter. It's longer, and unbetaed, and since my French brain is exhausted, I know this contains mistakes. Sorry about that! Don't hesitate to point out the most obvious to me, so I can make them disappear :D

I hope you enjoy it :)

**

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

**

When Olivia comes out of the shower stall, the room has filled with steam.

She mechanically wraps the towel around herself, and is immediately hit by the scent coming out of the fresh laundry. Both things –scent and laundry- are foreign and yet familiar. They're not hers. They're not hers because this is not her place.

It's the Bishop's.

"_It's a simple precaution,"_ Walter has said. "_It would be a shame if you were to have a seizure and die alone in your apartment, after all you've been through."_

A shame, indeed.

It's her second night here. And just like the previous one, she can't sleep. The fact that she has spent more than two days sleeping in the lab might have something to do with that. She decided to take a shower, hoping it would help her relax.

Ever since she has woken up from her artificial sleep, she has been in constant stress, her brain painfully distressed by the flow of memories swirling in there. It doesn't help that she doesn't know how to react to the simplest things anymore. Her two personalities keep clashing. Her mind is in constant contradiction, and it's mentally exhausting.

Both Olivias love the shower, though.

The water falls warm and strong on her skin, and it soothes her more than anything else she's tried. She relaxes under the spray, letting it wash away the stress of the day. And there's his scent. His scent all over her, every time she pours some of his soap on her body. As the sweet, familiar smell invades her head, she closes her eyes; there's no other Olivia nudging her at that instant. It's her and her only, lost into an element she has been longing for for weeks.

_Peter…_ the water whispers all around her. _Peter…Peter…Peter…_

But as soon as she steps out of the stall, a dull anguish invades her mind again. She feels torn, her heart beating fast and aching beneath her chest.

This is her world, and yet it isn't. This feeling follows her, wherever she goes, whatever she does, ever since she has first had her vision of _him_. She _knows_ this is her world, without a shadow of a doubt. She thought that being back would make the fear disappear.

It doesn't. Because now, it's another part of herself who's whimpering in a corner of her mind.

And there is the matter of the Olivia who is _physically_ in this universe, along with her. The one who's in her head, the one who took her place in so many ways.

Peter, Walter and Astrid, they don't talk much about her.

"_It took us a few weeks to become aware of the switch_," Walter's said. She has quickly realized that he's the one doing all the talking, despite his nervousness and stammering. She really wants to look at Peter, when he's in the room, but she can't.

She can't process the idea of the other Olivia living her life. This is simply too disturbing, too much, too fast. She doesn't even know how she feels about it. How do they feel about it? Guilty, apparently. That's understandable, even if she doesn't quite get it, not yet.

Her gaze finds her reflection in the mirror. Even as the steam quickly vanishes around her, her image remains blurry. She can't see the details of her face, only the dark curtains her wet hair forms around her.

Anguish rises again, and she finds it hard to breathe. Is it what she has become? A blank face, with no identity? And why do they look so guilty when they mention the other Olivia? What has happened, what has she done?

What has he done?

_Peter_?

With a shaky hand, she hastily wipes the mirror off, desperately needing to see her own eyes, right now. But she doesn't get as far as to see her face reappear. Because her eyes immediately stop on the figure standing right behind her.

Once again, she should be frightened. But she isn't.

She doesn't think she could ever get frightened of Peter.

He is standing so close to her that if she only leaned back slightly, her back would rest against his chest.

"Don't worry," he says softly. "Things will get clearer."

He smiles, then, and her heart misses a beat.

"You're not real…" she murmurs, losing herself into his dark, blue eyes. "You're not supposed to be in my head anymore. I came back."

He just smiles. He looks so calm, so peaceful. "You're physically back, but we both know parts of you are still asleep."

She shakes her head slowly, unable to look away. "There's something else, isn't it? You know."

He knows. He knows what makes her feel so uneasy and so keen to remain in the mist whenever they mention the other Olivia. And since he's nothing more than a projection of her own broken mind, it means that she knows too, deep inside.

He comes closer then, and the inch keeping them apart disappears, as he presses his chest against her back. He raises his hands, to put them on the bare skin of her shoulders, grabbing her gently; they are incredibly warm. She sighs, leaning back against his touch, fighting the sudden need to close her eyes, because she knows this would make him disappear. She desperately wants him to stay, at that instant.

She feels like she could drown into his warm embrace.

His face comes close to hers, and she swears she can feel his stubbles graze her cheek, and his breath on her skin.

"Don't be too hard on me, Livia…" he whispers in her ear. "When the moment comes, remember. Remember that in my eyes, I was only seeing you…"

He kisses her neck, then, and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, he's gone.

* * *

***

* * *

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

What do you expect exactly, when you are offered (ordered) to infiltrate the enemy side, and take the place of one of their most important soldier?

Not this.

You see the honor the Mission will bring you. The pride in knowing you are doing everything possible to save your world. You think about what would come After, when you come home. The admiration in your friends' eyes, the deep, endless love in your fiancé's embrace.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

The constant fear. The fear of being found out, because all your life, you were told how cruel and heartless those living on that side are. The fear of failure, because then, going back would not bring any pride or admiration, but humiliation. And the Secretary's wrath. And there are all those lines you have to cross, the ones you really, _really_ wish you hadn't crossed. All those lies.

The cold-blooded murders. The betrayals of trust, all around you.

Had she known what would happen, when she was offered (ordered) to go Over Here, will she do it again?

Olivia doesn't know. She really doesn't.

* * *

They call her Altlivia, those days.

Another thing she absolutely hates. She pretty much hates everything about what has become her life, right now.

Despite the fear she had been living in, there always was the Mission. A reason for doing all of this, for stealing someone else's life and forgetting all about hers. But ever since her cover has blown up spectacularly, she is nothing more than a prisoner, really. By denying her her real name, by calling her Altlivia, they are stripping her out of her identity.

She doesn't miss the irony in that.

She has betrayed them, and now, they're forcing her to betray her side. Unwillingly, of course. In the last two weeks, she has discovered that this Walter can be just as cold-hearted as the Secretary. And way too smart. It took him less than three hours to find a drug that would make her spill out all her secrets. They ask about everything. Walter asks about her world and their position in the war.

Peter asks about Olivia. The "Real One", as they say.

Peter doesn't do much except brooding over the fate of his sweetheart, all the while blaming it all on her, of course. Because, really, the guy just has an IQ of 190, he couldn't have realized earlier that he was banging the wrong blonde.

So now, he's angry and cold, instead of being warm and kind. The most disturbing thing about this is that she actually likes him a lot more like this.

"_Don't even think about escaping or getting help from your side_" he tells her, shortly after the Big Reveal. "_We implanted a chip in you, so we can follow you like a dog, wherever you go_."

Bastard, really.

They force her to go and write on the typewriter. They make her wear that stupid long coat, because Walter installed a micro-camera in it. They want to make sure she doesn't ask for help.

"**MISSION STILL ON TRACK.**", is basically what they ask her to write, when all she wants to type is "**I AM FUCKED, COME AND GET ME NOW**."

It really doesn't help that they force her to stay at Astrid's place, when she's not in the lab with them. They obviously can't leave her alone there at night, and staying at Walter and Peter's house would be way too disturbing for the poor guy. They could simply lock her up, but they want the rest of their world to believe Olivia Dunham is still kicking ass. So they inflict her with agent Farnsworth. It's like being back to her freshman year, flat-sharing with that crazy dork named Lola.

That is why she almost comes to appreciate those rare moments when she's outside alone, on her way to the shop. When she can pretend she still has her Mission.

But of course, the bitch has to come back and take that away from her, doesn't she?

"We're going to need your brain."

Those are Peter's words, as he stands in Astrid's apartment, that night.

She hasn't seen him in more than three days; he looks positively dreadful. Behind his cold face and demeanor, she can see his exhaustion, mixed with relief and stress.

For now, though, she is focused on what he is suggesting. He looks so stern and bitter, that she would not be surprised at all if he means it _literally_. Cold-sweat breaks over her.

She could joke. She could grin and make it all seem unimportant. She could act like she doesn't give a damn.

But she doesn't want to die.

"Excuse-me?" is all she can say.

"Your Secretary screwed up Olivia's brain by implanting her with your memories, as you told us yourself." He explains finally, not moving an inch from the doorway. "Walter has ideas to resolve that problem. But he was very clear about the fact that we needed your brain."

It still doesn't tell her if Walter needs it in her skull or on his autopsy table.

Something must have shown on her face, because an unusually malevolent smile appears on Peter's lips. "Worried, are we?"

"I just like my brain where it is right now," she answers just as coldly.

"Good," he says, getting his cell phone out. "Because if you want it to stay there, you better cooperate."

And so she does.

* * *

They don't waste any time. Olivia –the other one- isn't back for more than a few days before they decide to try something.

She's stuck in a car with Astrid, on their way to the lab, and they are successfully ignoring each other. She's staring out the window, looking at the people on the street without really seeing them. Everything look so familiar and yet so different. Even the light of day seems slightly altered, here.

She misses her home. She misses Frank.

"Don't worry; they won't cut your brain out."

She turns towards Astrid, frowning. "Why do you care, suddenly?"

Astrid shrugs, eyes on the road. "I don't. Not really. You just seem…sad. And definitely worried."

Olivia looks away again, making sure to put on her coldest mask. "Whatever, as if I cared."

As if, indeed.

But Astrid doesn't give up. "I know I'm supposed to hate you, for everything you've done to us. But I don't."

"You should, really. I don't give a fuck about you and your friends." She's starring right ahead, determined not to look at the other woman.

"I've never been one to hate people for their actions; especially the ones that are forced upon you. You can be a bitch as much as you want, Olivia. I still won't hate you."

She doesn't know what troubles her so much, at that instant. The fact that there really is someone here who doesn't hate her, or the fact that she's called her by her real name?

She knows she should find some kind of comfort in this. She should cling to whatever hopeful crumb falls her way, because she knows things are not about to get any easier for her.

But she feels cold anger arise within her, instead. She cannot accept the fact that she has fallen so low as to be contented by a few hollow words. Those people might not be the soulless Monsters the Secretary portrays them to be, but they are no saints either.

They are not _her_ people. They are the enemy.

Her mood definitely doesn't improve when they enter the lab, a few minutes later, clearly interrupting some kind of discussion.

She promptly registers Walter and Peter's position in the room –in case they really decide to grab her and tie her down to a table. But her gaze quickly focuses on _her_.

She's leaning back against one of the tables, staring back at her with just as much interest. She immediately notices several things, all of them very disturbing. It goes from her hair –still red- to the way she has dug her hands in her jean's pockets, or the way her shoulders slouch.

It's like looking at her reflection in a mirror.

She hasn't said a word, and yet, it's crystal clear that she is not the same woman she has met two months ago.

Because, in the weirdest, craziest way, she's _her_, too.

* * *

***

* * *

"You do understand the risks? I can't promise it's going to work, it's all just theoretical right now; I'm afraid you're the only person in this Universe owning two perfect sets of memories that-"

"Walter," Peter stops the old man, trying not to sound harsh, and probably failing. "I think she got it, the first two-hundred times you explained it."

He's talking to Walter, and yet, his eyes are glued to Olivia. Ever since their first conversation (even though they haven't really discussed anything at all), he doesn't seem able to do anything else. He stares at her, relentlessly.

She avoids his eyes, almost constantly.

"I do get it, Walter. And I don't think it's the craziest thing we've ever done here, by far." She offers him a weak smile. It doesn't shine in her eyes.

He stares and stares, as Walter starts rambling again, nervously. He never ceases to be _amazed_ by the constant mix of personalities coming out of her. By simply looking at her posture, he can tell this is not her, not really. She's too relaxed in her own body. And yet, the look on her face, the intensity there…this is her.

He can only imagine how awful this must feel. _He_ hates seeing her in such a confused state, so this must be torture for her. Being in distress and not being able to fix it right away –on her own, if humanly possible.

The door of the lab opens then, and Walter finally shuts up, as he turns to watch Astrid come in. With her. 'Altlivia', as they call her nowadays to avoid confusion.

They're all very aware of the fact that it's the first time both Olivias are in the same room since her return. Even without their background, this would be strangest thing ever witnessed, having identical people standing only twenty feet away from each other. No words are needed to express the crackling tension that erupts around them, as they both stare at the other.

"Well, this is going to be both exciting and disturbing, isn't it?"

Walter and his way for pointing out the obvious.

As always, when he now finds himself near Altlivia, Peter's whole body tenses. It's a thousand times worse with Olivia in the room. And it doesn't help that Altlivia has now decided to stare at him, a small smug smile on her lips.

It quickly vanishes from her face though, as Walter makes a beeline for her, eventually stopping in front of her, holding what seems to be a marker in his hand.

"What are you doing, exactly?" She sounds wary, and she can be.

"I'm making sure none of us will get confused again." And before she can protest or move away, he has written four black letters on her forehead.

"What did he write?" she hisses at Astrid.

"He wrote '**F A K E'**." Astrid answers. There's no trace of amusement in her voice, nor in her eyes.

It could have been funny, but it is not. Peter is reminded all too well of the fact that she has managed to fool them all, for too long.

He dares throwing a glance at Olivia, not really wanting to know what her reaction is to this obvious proof that they had all failed her. To his immense surprise, however, she's displaying the same smug smile her Double had on a minute ago.

It makes him feel very uneasy.

Feeling his eyes on her –yet again, she fleetingly meets his gaze. Her smile instantly fades away, as she realizes what she is doing. Or who she is being. She averts her eyes hastily, briefly biting down her lip, before she stares at Altlivia again.

A very pregnant pause follows.

"Red looks better on you," she says then. Her voice is as cold as her eyes. "I make a better blonde."

Altlivia's eyes narrow, and Peter instantly knows that things are about to get ugly.

Olivia shouldn't have said this. She doesn't know how bitter and resentful her Double is; Peter, on the other hand, has a vague idea.

This is going to be bad.

"Your _dear_ Peter seemed to find me pretty convincing. Extremely convincing, actually. You should have seen the way he played with my hair when-"

"Shut up." He growls, his fists closing up so tightly he can feel his short nails dig into his palms.

She stops talking, but it's too late.

They _have_ told Olivia the truth. Or most of it. That it has taken them a while to figure out they had brought the wrong person home. They have explained and apologized; Astrid has already baked close to ten pies. And Olivia has actually been surprisingly understanding. Peter's guess until that point was that she was still so wrapped up in her own confusion that she didn't fully grasp what it meant, exactly. She didn't realize how badly Altlivia had stolen her life.

But at that instant, it becomes clear to everyone in this room that she _does_ grasp it, now.

For the first time since she has awoken two days ago, she looks at him straight in the eyes.

He wishes she would look away again.

There is a hurt there that he would give _anything_ to make disappear. He can read the questions in her wounded eyes. '_Did you really think she was me? Did you see her _that_ way?'_

"Olivia…" he starts to say, but her face goes blank just then, and she turns away, looking at Walter.

"I'm gonna need a minute outside, if that's alright with you." Her voice is steady, almost nonchalant.

"Of course, of course…" Walter stutters, looking so obviously heartbroken that Peter feels a pang of jealousy shoot through him. He wishes he could display his emotions so openly.

Olivia is out of the lab within seconds. Peter follows without a word.

She doesn't go farther than the steps outside the building. She sits down, wrapping her arms around her knees. He hesitates for a few seconds, not knowing what he's supposed to do. Leaving her alone, to deal with what has just happened, or confronting this right now? Finally, he sits down, taking a decision.

He leaves a good gap between them, not invading her space. She stares right ahead, face blank. But her whole body is tensed, and her face is too pale.

He wants so badly to explain himself. But what can he say, exactly? '_You have to understand, she has your smile'_?

Which isn't even true.

"I love him, you know," she says then, still staring in the distance.

He swallows hard. He doesn't want to know more. And yet. "Who?"

"Frank. He really is the sweetest guy." She smiles then, clearly remembering him, and Peter's heart is torn into pieces. "We only get to see each other a few days every two or three months, and yet, he always takes the time to give me a massage, or to spend hundreds of dollars on my favorite rare fruits."

It hurts. He knows about Altlivia's fiancé; she doesn't have any secret left since the day her cover blew up. But he simply cannot bear the image of _his_ Olivia in someone else's arms.

It's absolutely unfair to her, to feel this way when he is far from being white as snow on his end. She has been brainwashed, he hasn't. But it hurts just as much.

He is aware of the fact that this is exactly the reason why she is telling him this.

Olivia has never been one to turn the other cheek. Her philosophy is closer to: 'You hurt me, I hurt you back.'

"Olivia," he tries again, and his chest is so tight that even his voice sounds constricted. "I'm so sor-"

"Don't get whiny on me," she cuts him off abruptly, coldly. "I am _not_ your Olivia, right now. Literally _and_ figuratively. So, really, I don't give a damn who you fool around with."

And to prove her point, she faces him then, looking at him straight in the eyes again. She's not lying.

And it is strange, really. Part of him doesn't want that Olivia to disappear; because _she_ doesn't feel betrayed.

She doesn't care.

But mostly, he hates it, and wants her back. Furious, hurt and all. And he knows how to do make it happen.

"Do you remember shooting Charlie Francis in the head?"

The change is instantaneous.

Her cold mask crumbles, and she quickly looks away, her face distorted by the sudden return of pain and grief.

"You're a bastard, Peter." She murmurs, trying hard to regain control over her emotions. She's griping her knees so tightly that her knuckles have turned white.

Oh, he knows how badly he has just hurt her, and how low that was. But he's starting to see a pattern here. She uses her 'other' personality whenever her real self is emotionally distraught. It's only logical then that it would take strong emotional memories to bring her back to the surface.

"I'm sorry for saying this," he says softly.

"What point are you trying to prove, exactly?" she asks angrily, facing him again. Her face is flushed, her eyes ablaze, and he can't help but love the mere sight of her at that instant. "Are you trying to make excuses, by reminding me that I was once fooled, too?"

He's not surprised by how quickly her mind has jumped to that conclusion. Because this isn't far from the truth at all.

He shakes his head, though. Never before has he wished so badly that she could just read his mind, and feel what he feels. "I don't want to make excuses, Olivia. You may not think it's important, but trust me when I say I have never regretted anything more in my life, and I know about regrets."

She laughs then. The sound is harsh and cold; it couldn't be more different from her real, hearty laughter, that he has heard in so few occasions.

"Oh, so now you're going to pull the 'I'm a victim, I was abducted and forced to live in a world that isn't mine, this is why I made so many fucked up choices' card?"

He clenches his teeth, looking away. "I don't like playing the victim, Livia. You know that."

He sees her shaking her head, from the corner of his eyes. "I'm not sure what I know anymore, Peter. I guess there was a time when I thought _you_ knew me."

He faces her again, but she's not looking at him. The color is already leaving her cheeks, and at that instant, he can see just how broken she is. All he has to do is look. He knows the way her face contracts, ever so slightly; he has seen that shattered light in her eyes before.

"I _do_ know you." He says quietly.

She turns her head, then, and their eyes meet. The sadness and desperation he sees in hers are almost unbearable. "If you really know me, Peter, tell me you didn't sleep with her."

He swallows hard, fighting his instincts, which are begging him to look away. _I'm sorry_, he screams in his head, _I'm so sorry, Olivia._

He stares, but cannot answer.

And that is all the answers she needs.

She nods curtly, pressing her lips hard, as she averts her eyes again. "Okay," she says, rubbing her hands on her legs. "Okay." She stands up, then. "Walter is waiting for me."

And then, she's gone.

* * *

**N/A**: What? I didn't warn you that I was a biiiiig sucker for angst? :D

Yeah, I know, this is depressing. But sincerely, as much as I love them, I cannot see how they are going to get through this without depressing us for a while.

Oh, and yes, I love hallucination!Peter way too much to let him get away too quickly XD He's just too damn sexy. And also, HE is totally and entirely devoted to OUR Olivia. Who cares if he's not real? Olivia hasn't seen the last of him, I'm afraid.

As always, I would ADORE to know what you think. I'm quite loving your reviews, guys :))

Next step: Walter having fun with Olivia and Olivia. And then some.


	4. Chapter 4

**N/A: **Thank you all so much for your reviews! I can't believe how many people put this story in their alerts, I don't feel the pressure of your expectation at all haha :D Don't worry, I'm still having a blast writing this, and as long I'm having fun, I can only hope you'll feel the same way ;)

Sorry for the delay, by the way, I've discovered the Fringie community online, and I got crazy for two weeks with my fellow fans, which is awesome for the geek in me, but bad for my writing schedule. BUT FRINGE IS BACK, and it blew my mind, and over-drugged my muse!

So here it is, new chapter :) Please, forgive the mistakes and all, it's unbetaed, and sometimes, it's actually VERY VERY frustrating to write in English when your brain is not!

* * *

Chapter 4

"Try to relax, Olivia," Walter instructs again, sounding almost reassuring.

She hears his words, but doesn't seem able to oblige. In spite of her best intentions, she knows that the feeling slowly increasing inside her whole being is the complete opposite of relaxation.

This is fear.

And she hates it. She has spent so much of her adult life not being afraid of anything, that she feels utterly exposed and weak whenever that kind of intense anguish starts smothering her.

But she can't help it.

She's sitting in a chair again. The Chair, as she has started calling it in her mind(s). It's never the same, not exactly; but what happens to her on it is similar. She's asked too many questions, drugs are poured into her veins, and her biggest terrors unleash inside of her.

She's trying to let _her_ take over, for once, this other her. She's not as scared as she is, by far. But right now, she knows this extraordinary part of her brain is awaking again, and with it, her second personality is almost completely blocked out.

"Can you tell me what they did to you, on the Other Side, when they gave you her memories?"

Olivia doesn't look directly at Walter, who's not looking at her either. He has placed electrodes on her head, and is now doing the same to the Other Olivia. The one who still has "**FAKE**" written all over her forehead. When she's walked back into the room half an hour ago, she saw she had clearly tried to wipe it off, judging by the very reddish color of her skin under the black marker.

Just like her, her Alternate is sitting in a chair, but she doesn't seem that worried. She seems furious and disgusted, though, but she knows she has no choice. So she lets Walter put whatever he wants on her, remaining oddly quiet.

Olivia takes a deep breath, staring at the ceiling; she can't deal with her at that instant, not after what has happened with Peter outside. She just can't.

She's forcing herself to focus her memories on that time, instead; when she had spent her days locked in the dark, or strapped on a bed, or to a chair like this one.

"They injected me with several kinds of drugs."

She remembers Walternate's face, the first time they had done the injections. She had been sedated, just enough to make her unable to fight, but leaving her aware enough to understand what was happening to her.

"_I'm sure you're wondering why I didn't kill you," _he had said, his voice as cold as his eyes_. "The truth is, you have abilities that no one else, in any universe, possesses. Now I know you're not one to surrender willingly, especially not here, not for us_." He had come closer, and a truly wicked smile had appeared on his lips. "_So I guess it's a good thing I have an IQ of 197, and Carte Blanche from the Government to do whatever I want."_

And then she had believed him, unwillingly.

She had truly, deeply believed she was the Olivia Dunham from this Other Side. She was engaged, her mother was alive, and her partners, Lincoln and Charlie, would have given their lives to save hers. And she would have given hers for them. She was happy.

Except for the visions of _him_.

"_Do not trust the Secretary and his experiment, he wants to use you," _he had said, once._ "Let him believe you trust him, though."_

And so she had.

He had put her in the Tank. He had smiled at her, pretended she was doing it for the greater good, for her world. He had drugged her. Again.

The only good thing that had come out of it was that it had indeed awoken her abilities, which had allowed her to cross over for good.

But everything else… it was just more lies, more pain, more pretends.

"How long did it take for the drugs to start working?"

Olivia focuses once more on _this_ Walter's voice. He's standing in front of her again. He's wearing his white coat, and seems very grave. For a fleeting second, she's convinced that this is not the Walter from this world. It has to be Walternate.

Her pulse increases again, and she fights to keep her breathing under control.

He's completely clueless of her distress, waiting for her answer. She swallows hard. Memories flashes behind her eyes. Her stay in that dark room had seemed to last months and months, she had been so deprived of everything, from light to brain stimuli. Even from food, at some point, when she had bitten one of the guards so badly that she had drawn blood. She'd had to wait for hours until someone finally slid a glass of water in the room.

The only sensation she'd had left, that endless night, was the iron tang in her mouth, mixed with the salty taste of her own tears.

"I don't know… I don't remember…" she whispers, her throat constricting suddenly, and she keeps staring at the ceiling.

She knows she's fully scared now, and she doesn't even know why. She's in no immediate danger, except from the voices in her head. Nobody here wants to hurt her; not really. And yet, she would give anything to get away from that Chair, from Walter, from that room.

She wants to find somewhere isolated and quiet, away from the rest of the world, where she can let the anguish out, before it consumes her from the inside.

"Try and remember, Olivia, it's very important." Walter insists, his voice so close, but still she will not look at him, at Walternate face, at the face of the man who experimented on her when she was three, and changed her life forever.

She remembers how she had finally managed to escape the facility where she'd been kept captive. She had stroke and punched and kicked.

And she had run. She had run so fast and so hard, until there was nothing left but water. Water stretching in the horizon, endlessly. She had jumped, and she had swum.

She had made it to the other side, but how many times had she feared for her own life, in that freezing, heavy water?

When every stroke should have been bringing her closer to the shore, she had seemed unable to move, to go farther, to go forward. She'd thought she was going to die, she was going to drown.

She was going to die here, all alone, and never again would she see his face.

Just when Olivia thinks her own terror is going to swallow her whole, her hand is suddenly covered with warm skin.

The contact is unexpected, and her eyes leave the ceiling, to focus on the person now standing next to her.

Once again, the glimmer around his body glitters like a thousand diamonds in the sun.

She looks away at once and closes her eyes painfully, feeling a sob rise inside her throat. The ache in her chest is so intense that it's hard to breathe.

She feels Peter's hand tighten around her fingers.

"It's okay, Livia," he says, and his voice is warm and soothing. "Just breathe… Just breathe…"

Inside her head, her mind is screaming, telling her not to listen to him. _Both_ her minds are completely opposed to his presence, far from having forgotten what they had discussed outside, less than an hour ago. When she had gone back inside, he had not followed her. And she has been so distressed in the last few minutes that she hadn't even heard him come back into the lab.

No, she doesn't want him here, not so close. She doesn't want his hands on hers, his skin against her own.

And yet, part of her is craving for that touch, for that connection that has shattered inside of her when she's realized he had replaced her with another version of herself in a heartbeat.

When she had been fighting for her life and sanity, he had been loving someone who had stolen everything she had.

But at this instant, she feels him, with that simple touch. It's tangible.

It's real.

It's comfort, and it's real.

So, slowly, very slowly, despite the rush of emotions and memories, the fear subsides.

And even when her breathing is slow and steady again, he doesn't let go of her hand.

* * *

**

* * *

**

Peter Bishop is not a coward man. With everything he has seen and been through for the last two years, he would even say he's pretty brave.

He possesses a good sense of self-preservation, however. And that might be what convinces him to stay outside while Olivia goes back inside, rather than to follow her.

She's obviously hurt and angry, and she does have legitimate reasons to be. He just doesn't think he can deal with being in a room with her and Altlivia at the same time, right now.

_She'll be fine in there_, he tells himself. Walter would keep explaining their upcoming experiment, and Astrid would make sure he doesn't try anything crazy on her before he comes back.

When it comes to Altlivia, though, he has no idea what she can say or do in his absence, but there's not a lot he can do about it, really.

So he takes a walk. Quite cowardly.

He doesn't go very far. He follows the main trail through the campus, which quickly leads him to the riverside. His eyes are immediately drawn to one of the many benches facing the water. And a distant memory imposes itself. He can see Olivia sitting there, as clearly as if she was really here.

He doesn't remember how long ago it was exactly, but he's sure they had barely known each other back then, maybe one or two weeks. And yet, even then, he had felt drawn to her; especially when she was distraught by something, as she had been that time, on that bench.

Eyes lost in the distance, she had already seemed to bear the weight of world on her shoulders. And it was before she learned that she actually _did_ bear it on her shoulders.

Peter abruptly turns around and starts walking back to the lab at a quick pace. She might be mad at him, she may refuse to talk to him, and maybe she'll never trust him again. As much as it hurts him, it doesn't matter right now; he needs to be at her side.

That is where he's supposed to be.

He has barely entered the lab when he notices that something is very wrong.

For starters he was wrong to assume Walter wouldn't start without him. Astrid briefly looks up from her computer, while Altlivia, sitting on a chair, electrodes on her head, gives him a murderous glare. He ignores her, his eyes immediately falling on Olivia.

Walter is standing next to her, clipboard in hands, and looking very stern.

"Try and remember, Olivia, it's very important," his father says, and whatever he's asked in the first place, it's causing her a great deal of pain and anguish.

Just like Altlivia, she's sitting on a chair, electrodes all around her head, her long red hair falling around her. But her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, not really seeing it at all. Physically, it's hard to tell that she's panicking, except maybe for the way her chest rises and falls too quickly.

But he _knows_.

He approaches her without a word, and as he comes closer, more signs appear; the way her hands are clenching the armrests, the pale color of her skin, her dilated pupils. He can't believe Walter is still completely clueless. He ignores the old man's questioning look, because he knows he might say something he will regret later if he speaks now.

He doesn't think, he simply reacts. She might hate him for it, but he doesn't care.

Without any doubt or hesitation, he puts his hand and hers, and squeezes it.

She flinches under his touch and lowers her eyes to look at him. The sheer terror he can read in them breaks his heart a little more. And for some reasons, the sight of him seems to instantly increase her misery. She closes her eyes tightly, turning her head away from him.

At first, he thinks it's because of what has recently transpired between them. But he quickly dismisses this selfish thought, looking beyond. She is too far gone and too scared to focus on this right now.

And then it hits him.

She must be seeing the glimmer around him.

They never had the chance to discuss this; when he had realized he was from the Other Side, he had fled before they could talk. And then he had gone Over There, and she had followed, desperately asking him to come back for her.

He had come back, with the wrong woman.

But it makes sense, really. Fear is one of her most effective catalysts, even if he's seen firsthand that deep meditation could work as well. He remembers Jacksonville all too well, when she had been sitting on a chair like this one.

He remembers almost kissing her, her reaction, the sudden reappearance of her ability.

They had gone out on a date, the next night. Which wasn't a date at all, officially. And he remembers now how oddly she'd acted, ever since he had opened the door. She had seemed very distracted and preoccupied, barely looking at him at all, and had gone home early, under the pretext that she was still worn out from their last adventure; at that time, he'd though she was simply nervous because of their almost-kiss.

How many times, exactly, has he made those self-centered assumptions? Had he been more opened-minded, would he have realized earlier that she had stayed behind, while Altlivia was taking her place?

Here and now is really not the place to focus on that epiphany, however. He can still feel her trembling under his hand.

"It's okay, Livia," he says softly, forcing himself to sound warm and reassuring, when all he wants to do is burry his face in her hair and beg for forgiveness. "Just breathe... Just breathe…"

And slowly, she starts to relax. Her breathing deepens and slows down, and the shivers subside. He never lets go of her, though. If it was up to him, he would never let go again.

But he knows all too well that from that moment on, the decision isn't his.

And so, after minutes that seemed to have lasted hours, she's the one who finally slid her fingers away from his.

He swallows back the intense and instantaneous sense of lose that shots through him, and looks around.

Unsurprisingly, all the eyes are on them. While Astrid seems to be sincerely empathetic for the complicated situation they're in, Walter's gaze seems unfocused, his mind lost elsewhere. It's the expression on Altlivia's face that confuses him the most.

At this instant, she really _does_ look like Olivia. He knows it's all because of her eyes, of that haunted look. But she quickly averts her eyes when she realizes he's staring at her.

Ignoring the hundreds of thoughts running through his head, he turns to his father. "What's next, Walter?"

What comes next is the experiment they have spent the last day designing. In itself, it's one of the simplest things they have ever done in this lab. The first part of it, anyway.

"The projector is ready" Astrid eventually informs them.

"Good," Walter smiles, rubbing his hands excitedly. He's the only person in the room who seems happy about what is about to happen.

Astrid has installed a big white screen on which pictures would be shown. Both Olivias are facing it, and for every picture shown, they have to tell them what memory it brought to their minds. That way, Walter hopes to map out Olivia's and Altlivia's memories. He thinks he might be able to target the ones that don't belong in her head, and 'chemically erase them'.

Walter claps his hands then, and the lights go out. All the curtains being open, tough, the lab remains quite sunny, but he seems happy with himself anyway.

"First slide, please," he asks Astrid.

The picture of a gun appears. Colors emerge on both screens monitoring their brain activity.

Olivia remains silent, as she was instructed. Altlivia has to give her answer first, on paper, so she cannot influence Olivia.

"Well?" Walter asks, ignoring Altlivia's glare. She doesn't make a move, and certainly doesn't seem about to write anything down for them. "Astrid, can you bring me the syringe I prepared earlier? We do not have to do this the easy way, Miss Dunham. You're fully aware of the fact that I am not beyond the use of drugs, when it comes to subtract information from you."

"You freak…" Altlivia mutters, but she finally starts scribbling on her note pad. She then holds it up so they can read when she wrote.

'_Winning Olympic medal'._

"Olivia?" Walter turns to her. "What was your first thought?"

Olivia is still staring at the gun, her face somber. "I thought of winning an Olympic medal for marksmanship."

This should not be a good sign, really, that her first association is with one of Altlivia's memories. But Peter is somehow convinced that she's not thinking about Olympics anymore, as she stares at that gun.

The picture of a lily comes up next.

'_Spring,'_ Altivia writes.

"It has to be a specific memory, not a general idea," Walter reprimands her, sternly.

"Are you kidding me?" Altlivia snarls.

"No, I am not."

She sighs, clearly biting her tongue, but she starts writing again.

'_My MOTHER'S GARDEN in the spring_.'

"Good," Walter nods, "Olivia?"

"My mother's funeral."

She doesn't say more, and is still carefully avoiding anyone's gaze. Especially Peter's.

They don't have to ask Altlivia if this is one of her memories, since her mother is still alive Over There.

The picture of a beach at sunset comes up next. Peter fights his desire to roll his eyes; Walter really chose the most cliché images.

'_Party on the beach with college friends_.'

Walter seems to be satisfied by this answer.

"When I was in College, me and my friends would drive for hours to go to the beach and party there," Olivia recalls, the tiniest smile crossing her lips.

"This is one of my memories," Altivia objects, darkly.

"How do you know?" Olivia asks back immediately, and her voice is icy cold. "I may have done the same thing."

Peter doubts it, though. From what Olivia has told him in the past, she's never been one to take a road trip and party with a group of friends. It's easier to picture her alone in a dark library, on a Saturday night.

"What were your friends' names, then?" Altlivia insists.

"Brian. Melissa and Joan. Michael and-"

"Michael and Sonia, yeah," she stops her, with a dark laugh. "That's _my_ friends from College."

"Amazing," Walter says to himself, typing enthusiastically on his computer. "Despite her conflict of memories, they're still making the same associations when she's using her Alternate's memories."

Peter doesn't find it amazing at all, though, as he stares at her; she looks so confused, trying to put back together the pieces of this abnormal puzzle.

"Next, please!"

A swing set.

Altlivia writes '_Elementary school, when I was eight and blond. I wore blue pants that day._'

Olivia doesn't answer immediately. "Jacksonville's daycare," she finally says.

"Can you be a little more specific?" Walter asks her, much more nicely than he had done with Altlivia. "You've been there during both your childhood and adulthood. What is the first thing that crossed your mind, exactly?"

Silence again. "Peter," she says, eventually.

He's already looking at her, of course, and she's not. She's deliberately looking at the screen or beyond. "What, Liv?"

"No," she corrects him. "I mean…that's the first thing that went through my mind. You sat there with me, a few months ago."

She doesn't need to say more, because he remembers it vividly, too. And it's amazing, really, how many different emotions he can feel at the same time. Thrill and guilt, hope and helplessness.

"Next, please," instructs Walter, completely oblivious of what was crackling between his son and Olivia.

Several pictures follow. Olivia keeps referring to both her set of memories, none of her personalities seeming to be stronger than the other. Which is not an exceptionally good news, because it would make the 'extraction' that much more difficult.

The picture of plane comes up, next.

'_Vacation on the West Coast with Frank.'_

Looking at the picture, Peter immediately thinks of all the atrocities he's seen on planes ever since he's started working with the Fringe Division.

"Frank surprised me and took me to the West Coast, six months ago." Olivia answers. "That's when he proposed."

Peter doesn't even have the time to feel the hot blade of jealousy pierce his heart, because at those words, Altlivia loudly puts the note pad down on her laps.

"You know, I really don't like this at all. Those are _private_ memories!"

Olivia's head instantly snaps toward her Double. "Are you fucking kidding me? Are you seriously complaining?" She almost yells. "Do you think I'm enjoying this? You stole my life!"

"You stole mine too!"

"You did it _willingly_! I was locked in a freaking dark room for weeks and drugged out of mind, you bitch!"

In any other situation, and with any other women, Peter would now be saying something like 'Ladies, please, unless you're gonna resolve this in a mud fight, can you get a grip of yourselves?'

But he would never dare say anything like this to Olivia. To _any_ Olivia Dunham, really. And Walter is enjoying himself too much, watching them argue ferociously, to try and calm them down.

"Hey, Olivia!" Astrid calls out then, and both women turn their murderous glare to her. "I understand the resentment here, and I think you two really need to get it out, but really, the faster we get through this, the faster you can get away from each other again. And we're almost done, there's only one picture left." She looks up at Peter, then, and he understands. It's the picture _he_ specifically asked her to show Olivia.

Right now, Olivia isn't really Olivia, however. The simple fact that she has openly sworn out loud twice within thirty seconds proves that her other self has mostly taken over again. And it's both disturbing and amazing to watch them both, at this instant, because of all the astonishing similarities in their behavior and facial expression.

"Show it, please, Astrid," he asks. And she obliges.

He doesn't look at the picture, though, still staring at Olivia, watching closely. And he's not disappointed.

As she fixes the picture, the cold and angry mask slowly crumbles away, replaced by something else entirely. He doesn't even look at what Altlivia has written; he sincerely couldn't care less about her association.

Because he's sure of where Olivia got her memory, this time.

"Olivia?" Walter prods calmly, after a long minute of silence. "What does it remind you of?"

Finally, Olivia's eyes slid off from the enlarged picture of a birthday card displayed on the screen, and she stares directly into Peter's eyes.

"Revenge," is all she says.

* * *

**N/A**: BAM. Nice one, Liv, I'm sure Peter can feel the love! :D

Nah, seriously, don't worry, I won' have Olivia gets all psycho on Peter. And I insist on the 'on Peter' (hint hint).

This was supposed to go on a bit longer, more Olivia Angst should have ensued, but ugh, I'm just exhausted, and I wanted to post tonight, it's already been too long since my last update! AND, I'm just loving my last line, so there. More angst next time :D

Next time: Olivia goes back to her place, uh oh. And might get a little overwhelmed by her crazy double minds. And she might finds whisky, too (if not, she will one day XD)

Should I beg for reviews, now? *makes begging eyes*


	5. Chapter 5

**NA: **GUYS! THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH, for all the reviews! And for all the new favs and alerts. You are making me so happy to be a fanfic writer in that fandom, you have no idea.

Sorry for the wait again! Real Life is quite busy right now, I have basically no time to go on my computer (*sobs*) and I kid you not, I wrote 8 pages out of 10 of this chapter on my Ipod, in a bus. All the typos are now gone hopefully XD And I will try to answer all your reviews within the day, because you guys are awesome! IF I CAN'T, KNOW THAT I LOVE ALL OF YOU!

Beware, this is angsty! :D Because that's really all we need, right, during that awful hiatus? (Tomorrow should have been Fringe Day *sobs again*)

Anne, thank you so much for being so kind! I LOVE YOU!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_He fell asleep with his arms around her warm body, legs entangled, one of his hand possessively spread over her stomach _

_He wakes up feeling cold._

_His brain still foggy, he opens his eyes to the darkness of her bedroom, blinking a few times. The reason for his chills are quite obvious; the sheets only cover his legs, and the rest of his very naked body is exposed to the air. And he's obviously lost her body warmth when she's rolled away from him. In her sleep, without a doubt. She's now curled up at the edge of the bed, her back to him. It's the only thing he can see of her, along with the cascade of blond hair spread on her pillow; the covers are hiding the rest of her body._

_And he stares at this milky skin that he now knows is as soft as it looks. He's cold, but he doesn't make a move. He doesn't come closer to her, doesn't try to bring the sheets up. He simply stares at her back, lost in the memory of what has happened a short while ago._

_He doesn't know if he's feeling absolutely delighted or inexplicably confused._

_The truth is, this isn't how he had imagined his first time with Olivia to be._

_He has told her once himself that 'first times are always sloppy', but he knows this is not what troubles him. If anything, there was nothing sloppy at all in what they had done. He had lost all power of speech and thought as soon as she had pressed her lips against his, pinning him hard against the wall as her tongue invaded his mouth. He was so lost into the sensations that he hadn't registered anything but her, her body all over his, curving and burning, intoxicating him._

_She was the lead in the game they'd played, and he had let her be more than willingly._

_But now, he can't help but think back. There was barely any eye-contact; she had kept hers firmly closed, and when she _had_ looked into his eyes, the passion he had found there wasn't the kind he had expected._

_He might never admit it out lout, but Peter can be a bit of a romantic. He hasn't loved a lot of women in his life, but he has loved them well, for as long as they have shared his path. And he loves sex just as much as any guy; sex is great, _extremely_ great, especially after the months of frustration he has endured. But he knows that sex and love make for some very explosive cocktail. As well as he knows that the connection he shares with Olivia runs deeper than any other he might have had before._

_He can't explain it. Right now, he can't really remember a time when he hasn't been in love with her, but he knows it wasn't love at first sight. Not when back then, she was obviously head over heel in love with John Scott, blackmailing him and forcing his crazy father on him. But things have evolved, as they always do._

_And ever since he has seen her burst out of that car, to then lie presumably dead on the hard concrete, he knows he could die for her. Anything to see her _alive_ again. To see the rare smiles on her lips, the scowl on her face, and her green eyes. _

_He simply wanted her to look at him again. She'd always told him so much, without saying a single word._

_And he really wishes he'd seen that look in her eyes, tonight. _

_That look telling him without the shadow of a doubt that, wherever he goes, he belongs with her.

* * *

***

* * *

_

"_You have to go home."_

She can still see him, as she's remembering her time Over There.

He would appear in front of her without any notice, as she took the milk out of the fridge, or stepped out the shower. His intense stare, his knowing smile. He has given her a fare amount of advices and warning during her months on the Other Side, and she had ignored most of them.

But tonight, this one keeps popping into her mind(s) again.

Because she had finally listened. And it hadn't felt like homecoming at all.

She had followed her instincts, that night in the lab. Her love for him even, dare she say.

"_You have to go home."_

She is home now. So why does it feel so wrong?

As she stands in front of her apartment's door, Olivia has the feeling that this is not going to be homecoming either.

Coming back here seemed like a good idea though, an hour ago. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and there was no way in hell she was going to spend another night at the Bishop's. Not after everything that had transpired between her and Peter today.

He has offered to take her 'home', of course. She simply asked for her keys, some change, and took a cab.

During this short trip between the lab and her place, she voluntarily lets her mind(s) go blank. She doesn't want to think about Walter and his experiment, about the fact that he would be testing things on her again tomorrow, about the fact that she might be forever stuck with another personality inside of her.

She doesn't want to think about Peter. About Peter and _her._

But as she's about to enter her place for the first time in weeks, she knows she doesn't have a choice anymore. Maybe she should just leave, and not tempt the devil. But where could she go?

All she has in this world has been tarnished.

She should just run and not look back.

And then she lets out a snort of derisive laughter and pushes the key into the keyhole. "Get a grip, Dunham," she mutters to herself, feeling suddenly careless and enjoying the change.

She goes in, closes the door and turns the light on, without any hesitation. She gives the place an appreciative look, some part of her rejoicing the fact that she has made it back _here_ at all. But that feeling doesn't last long, as her eyes wander through the room.

She feels her whole body tense automatically, and she instinctively curls back into herself, leaning against the door.

Something is off.

She can't tell what, exactly. As far as she can tell, every piece of furniture is where it's supposed to be. That couch might have been a little more on the left, though. Had _she_ moved it all around, to make it her own? But Olivia knows that is not what's bothering her right now. And then it hits her.

It's clean. It's _too_ clean.

She has never been a neat person, and never wanted to be one. She always had far more important things to worry about than ironing all of her clothes and vacuuming her place twice a week. And she knows that's a trait both Olivias share. If she has lived here for two months, this place should not look so spotless. Which only leads to one conclusion.

Someone else has done some massive cleaning. And she has a good idea of who that person is.

Reluctantly, she pushes herself off the door. She knows, in every cell of her body, that she should get out now; she should grab her wallet, and go check herself in a hotel. Because there's no way she can sleep here, let alone live here right now. Or ever.

But against her best judgment, she finds herself starting to roam the apartment, looking for proofs.

She know she _must_ be crazy, to put herself through this. But looking for evidences and figuring out puzzles, it's part of who she is. Whoever she might be. She feels so lost, all the time. She needs physical proofs of what may (must) have happened between Peter and her Alternate. Because so far, from what little interaction she has seen between the two of them, Peter is clearly angry and resentful. She guesses he has reasons to be so.

So she starts with the bedroom, because she's sure it's going to be the neatest room. It is. The bed is perfectly made, with a set of sheets she's never seen before. It looks brand new. Did he throw the old ones away? Did he burn them? She fleetingly thinks she might have, given the chance. And as the bitterness that comes with that thought causes bile to rise in her throat, she suddenly doesn't care anymore. This room looks foreign, anyway, as if she's never slept in that bed. Why should she care? Why is she even bothering with the details?

But just as suddenly, she's caring again, too much. Way too soon, she feels her other self nudge and push, that other self who has spent countless sleepless nights here. And just like this, she's herself again. She opens her dresser, and goes through her clothes, because _she_ must have worn them, in order to take her place.

But everything smells fresh, as if it's been recently washed.

He has washed everything she's ever bought, even the old items she wouldn't even wear nowadays. And yet, as soon as she thinks it, sliding a hand on a sexy red top, a voice in her head whispers that it would actually look great on her. She closes the dresser loudly, and enters the bathroom.

It's spotless. Not even a used toothbrush, or an opened shampoo bottle. She finds all of those in the cabinet, though, brand new. She throws them away. The kitchen is just as neatly ordered. There's nothing perishable in the fridge, no fresh fruit. Not even coffee.

There's absolutely nothing. Her life and identity were stolen for two months, and she can't even prove it. Nor can she prove than Peter has ever slept with _her_.

She becomes really restless, agitated, going through the rooms again and again, opening cabinets and checking sinks for hair. Nothing.

Except for that soap and toothbrush she's thrown in the trash, she hasn't been able to get her frustration out on anything. Or anyone.

That is when she sees it.

The blinking red '1' on her answering machine. She doesn't even think. She simply presses the button.

"You have one new message," the recorded voice announces. "Yesterday, at 11.34am:"

"_Hey Liv…_"

Her heart immediately jumps in her chest as she hears her sister's voice for thefirst time in months. Only now does she realize just how much she's missed her, and she sits down on the couch, heavily, feeling suddenly weak in the knees.

"_I...I don't really know what to say. Peter, he...after what happens with...you know. He tried to explain what had happened and who she was. He called me to tell me you were...back. But he also said you were having some kind of...PTSD or something, and it was better if we let _you_ come to us. But Ella really wanted to talk to you; but you're obviously not there so I'll-_"

"_Aunt Liv_!"

An excited voice squeals behind Rachel, and a true smile appears on Olivia's face, the first one since she's come back; her eyes start to burn, prickling with tears. "Can _you come and see us soon? I really miss you! And you know what? Mom says I totally busted the other you's butt!" _

"_Ella, don't."_

"_"But that's true! She was so weird! I love you, aunt Liv! Come see us! We'll make cookies!"_

"**BIIIIIP**"

"I love you too, baby girl..." she whispers, as she feels a tear trickle down her cheek. But as she raises a hand to wipe it off, the machine speaks again, and she freezes in mid air.

"You have one old message. Tuesday, 23rd at 7.13pm:"

And without any warning, his voice, cheerful and happy, fills the room.

"_Hey, it's me! I tried your cell phone, but it seems to be off. Did you forget to plug it again? You remember that those things need to be charged from time to time, right? Anyway, I guess you must be in the shower. I'll be there in twenty minutes, don't wear anything _too_ sexy. I don't want hungry eyes on my girl...except for mine, of course. See you in a bit!"_

The machine beeps one last time, and silence takes over the room once again.

Olivia sits very still, simply too numbed to react. It takes sharp pain in her knees to make her look down. She's gripping them so hard that her nails are digging through her pants, into her flesh. And just like that, the pain expands, the numbness vanishes, and a deep and violent ache invades her chest. Her hands come together and she presses her lips hard against her fingers, her eyes burning again.

'You know I never meant to hurt you. This message was meant for you, not for her."

Very slowly, not taking her hands away from her face, she slightly turns her head. And there he stands, in the corner of the room, in his black pea coat.

But it's not really him, of course.

She cannot speak. Her throat feels so tight. And even if she could, what would be the point? Talking to her own broken mind(s) is not going to lead her anywhere.

So he speaks for her.

"It might help actually. You need my help. And by 'my' I mean the real me's help."

She finally brings her hands down, still unable to look away from his face. "Go away…" she whispers. "I don't want to see you."

"Oh, but you do. I wouldn't be here otherwise, would I?"

" I _don't_," she repeats, and her voice is steady and firm this time, as she looks at him with contempt.

In fact, she sits up straighter, suddenly feeling less burdened, more confident. She's mostly annoyed by Peter Bishop appearances. "You are the last person I want to see right now. Do me and yourself a favor, and go away."

"Do we really need to go through this again, Olivia?" he asks, coming closer. "Being her won't make me or the pain go away. You're going to make me talk until you're yourself again? You know I'm really good at that game."

And of course, it's all it takes for her personalities to switch again. And with it comes the sickening ache, deep inside.

Except that now, she also feels very distressed, because she keeps going back and forth and she doesn't know how to stop it. She can't think straight and she pretty much feels like curling into a ball and start screaming.

So of course, there's a knock on her door.

She looks at it, unable to move. New knock. "Olivia?"

The pain sharpens and she closes her eyes. Only to open them again suddenly when that same voice speaks in her ear: "Let me in, Livia. We need to talk."

He has completely invaded her personal space again, and it _really_ doesn't help her feel less crazy. She jumps off the couch, walking away, but when she turns around, he's standing right in front of her, smiling. The real Peter knocks again.

"Open the door, Olivia," the vision says.

"Olivia, please open the door. I know you're mad, but I just want to make sure you're-"

She opens the door briskly, because it's either that or start screaming for real. "Make sure of what?" she asks brusquely. "That I'm alright?"

The differences between this Peter and the one in her head are almost shockingly obvious. The one made of flesh and bones looks pale and exhausted. He needs to shave. And that look of desperation in his eyes is not something she could have invented.

"Are you?" He finally asks, his voice soft but unsure. She crosses her arms tight in front of her chest.

"Oh, I'm fantastic," she answers sarcastically. "I was just appreciating the bit of Spring Cleaning you did."

He closes his eyes, painfully. "Olivia..."

"Save your breath," she stops him harshly; maybe too coldly, because it hurts her too when she speaks like that. "Did you really think that changing the sheets and buying new shampoo would make her disappear from this place?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Flash news, Peter. She's in my _head_. I'm her, half the time. Which means I know everything about her. I might not know what you and she did, but I know how she would do it, in details."

"Olivia, don't."

"Yes, Olivia, don't," the other Peter behind her agrees, and she snaps.

"Oh, shut up!" she turns around, glaring at the hallucination, who just smiles at her.

She closes her eyes briefly, but he's still there when she opens them again. They both are. When she turns back to the real Peter, though, he now seems really worried.

"I'm fine," she lies with a fake smile before he can ask the question.

"Are you still hallucinating?"

The forced smile disappear, "What?"

"When you were still on the Other Side, we could see you through a window Walter invented. He said you were having hallucinations of some sort."

For some reason, this almost hurts more than the rest, and she turns away again, finding _his_ eyes, _his_ smile. What could she say?

'_Yes, I've been hallucinating you for weeks. I saw you everywhere, Peter, every day; even when I was so brainwashed I couldn't remember my own mother was dead. Meanwhile on this Side, you were taking her out on dates._'

So she changes the subject, like she so often does with him, walking away from the door.

"You haven't erase all the proofs of what happened with her, you know?" She looks around at him; he's now standing in the open doorway, not daring to come in completely, since she hasn't asked him to.

He swallows hard, and he looks so tired and vulnerable at that instant, holding tight on the doorframe, that she almost wants to drop it; but a more revengeful part of herself emerges then, someone who hates to lose or to be fooled…someone who's less forgiving than her.

So she presses the button on her answering machine, skipping Rachel's message. When he hears his own voice, Peter closes his eyes again, hanging his head, defeated.

"_Hey, it's me! I tried your cell phone, but it seems to be off. Did you forget to plug it again? You remember that those things need to be charged from time to time, right? Anyway, I guess you must be in the shower. I'll be there in twenty minutes, don't wear anything _too_ sexy. I don't want hungry eyes on my girl...except for mine, of course. See you in a bit!"_

A very long minute of silence follow the end of the message, before she starts talking again.

"She never charged her cell phone because we don't have them Over There," she tells him, with a slightly trembling voice. "In two years, have you ever seen me without my cell phone available at all time?"

"Olivia" he tries again, but he can't even look at her face.

"I can guess what else could have given her away," '_should have given her away'_, she wants to add. "Did you take her out for drinks, Peter? Because she can't stand the taste of alcohol. She hasn't used a pen since preschool; and she hates math, you know. Ever asked her to remember some numbers?"

He's clenching his teeth hard, she can see it; irritation seems to be mixing up with guilt now.

He finally looks up at her, and she sees it his eyes too. "There's nothing I can say that will be enough, is there?"

"Enough to explain why it took you two months and Ella's perception to realize that she wasn't me?" she asks, trying to sound sarcastic, but she's really too hurt for that. "I don't think so"

He walks into the room, then, agitated and clearly pissed off. "You didn't make things easy for me either, Olivia."

"What do you mean?"

"You said you thought I knew you. You implied that maybe it wasn't true because...because if I did, she wouldn't have been able to fool me so easily. Now I'm wondering if you weren't right."

It's like slap in her face. But instead of breaking her down, it makes her just as angry as him. "Fine, you're right," she says, and she hates the crack in her voice as she speaks. "After everything you and her did together, between the sweet dates and the time in bed, you clearly know her more than you ever knew me."

"That is _not_ what I meant, and don't put words in my mouth, Olivia," he growls. "I will take all the blame for this, Liv, and I will do it willingly. But there must be a reason why I could be so easily fooled. Knowing you will never say no to some whiskey, or that you have a photographic memory, is not enough for me to _know_ you."

_'Why are you doing this?'_ is what she wants to scream.

But instead she says with a voice shaking with anger and heartbreak: "Alright, Peter. We spent two years working side by side, being in each other's company almost 24/7, and I was being so cold and closed up that you don't know anything about me."

He doesn't answer, but the irritation quickly vanishes from his face as he looks into her eyes, suddenly realizing just how deeply he's hurt her.

"I'm sorry, Livia."

"Get out." She turns around, only to realize the vision is still there, too. And it's simply too much for her.

"Olivia..."

"Get OUT!" She shouts, and there's a loud swooping sound behind her, followed by the door closing with a reverberating 'BANG'. She looks around, and he's gone. She has the feeling her very special brain hasn't given him any choice, there.

She can't stand being in her own skin, at that instant. She starts walking in circles, breathing loud and fast, one hand up in her hair.

"You know what I meant when I said I didn't really know you, right?" He asks behind her.

She ignores him, her dilated eyes looking around frantically, trying to find something that could help her focus and calm down; but her eyes fall on the answering machine again, and as she stares at it, it begins to smoke.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes out, walking away fast before she sets fire to the entire place.

"You know the feelings there are real, Olivia." He insists, following her around. "But you really never told me much about your life, or the simple things you love."

She enters the bathroom and turns the cold water on, splashing some on her face. She breathes in and out deeply, griping each side of the sink. And then, her eyes find her own in the mirror.

Her dark hair falls straight on each side of her face. The bangs are getting too long, and the roots are blond again; she was supposed to dye it again on Wednesday, but since she was asleep in Walter's lab, she couldn't have done it, could she?

But she knows she will never dye it red again.

She desperately wants to be herself again, completely. Because as much as her other self is quiet at the moment, due to her very intense reaction and the fact she's pretty much 'active' right now, she knows it's only temporary. Ten minutes from now, she can be calm and composed again, wishing she could go do some target shooting to relax, and missing Frank.

She should go out and buy some blond dye. She can't possibly wait for months for her real hair to grow out blond. But deep down, right where it hurts the most, she knows it would not change anything.

_She_ has blond hair, now. _She _had blond hair when _she_ had kissed him, stealing moments that should have been hers.

_She_ had blond hair when he had made love to _her_ in her own bed.

She closes her eyes hard, a broken sob coming out of her, a tearless one. This is just too painful for tears.

She breathes deep again for a long while, until it feels safe to open her eyes again without breaking the mirror with her mind, or setting the room on fire. And when she opens them again, they fall on the scissors lying there, on the side of the sink. She stares at them for two longs minutes, before she reaches for them with trembling fingers. She then straightens up again, looking at her reflection decisively.

He's still here of course, standing behind her. He's not smiling anymore, though. He simply stares at her, gravely. She doesn't care.

She grabs a fistful of her hair and begins to cut.

* * *

***

* * *

When Ruth opens up her curtains, with no other intent than to turn the sign from '**CLOSED**' to '**OPEN**', she jumps out when she sees the woman standing in front of her door.

She really wasn't expecting anyone, not that early in the morning; she always opens up at that time, but business has been really slow, and not that many people would come and see her at 7.30 in the morning.

The woman is wearing a grey sweatshirt. The hood is up, masking part of her face.

Ruth takes the earphones out of her ears and opens the door, offering the woman a questioning look.

"Are you open?" The stranger asks, and her voice is tensed.

Ruth is still suspicious, but she's always had good instincts, and she doesn't give out the vibes of a dangerous person. "Do you need a haircut?"

The woman doesn't answer immediately. She remains still a few more seconds, until she raises a hand to pull her hood down. Ruth stares at her, careful not to let her face show any kind of shock. This is, after all, not the first time she has seen hair in that state.

"I think I do," she says then, and she looks so lost and confused that Ruth can't do anything but move aside.

"Come in, honey."

She does, and as she looks around to take in her surrounding, Ruth takes in the damage there, already planning what she can do to repair it. She must have had long hair, because it's not cut that short, and after she's done with it, it still should be at shoulder length. She's definitely going to need a color, too. She would usually start with it, but she knows it's not the priority right now. The girl needs to feel normal again, whatever may have happened to her.

"Come and sit down," she offers her, pointing at the washing chairs.

She obliges without hesitation, most likely glad that she wasn't asked any question or looked at weirdly. But Ruth has been doing this job for a very long time, and she knows haircuts are like taking a cab; sometimes, you want the driver to talk to you the whole way through, and sometimes you just want to enjoy a quiet ride.

So she starts, washing her hair with warm water, taking her time and being gentle, and she can almost feel the woman relax in the chair. She stays quiet the whole way through shampoo. Only when she's sitting in front of a mirror, staring at her badly cut hair does she speaks again.

"You must think I'm crazy."

And there's fear in her voice, as if she really might think herself mad. Ruth stops combing, looking straight into her eyes.

"Honey, I've been doing this for over twenty years; I assure you you're not the first person who takes it out on their hair."

"Really? And...you're okay with this?"

Ruth shrugs, focusing on her task at hand again, "Who am I to judge? I'm more of a dish breaker myself; no plate survives me when I'm in a mood. But, I guess sometimes it's just too personal, and cold dishes aren't enough. I would rather have you cut your hair than use those scissors somewhere else on your body, honey."

She's focused on what she's doing with _her_ scissors, but she keeps an eye on her face; she has hit home, apparently, judging by the way her face is distorted by a very raw kind of desperation. She doesn't speak. And yet, Ruth has the feeling the girl needs to.

"It's a man, isn't it?"

She swallows hard, trying to compose herself again, but not really succeeding. She clears her throat before answering in a weak voice: "A man and a lot of other things. But I guess the man is the main reason."

Aren't they always?

This poor girl simply looks broken inside, and it truly pains Ruth to look at her face. She doesn't even know her name, but she gets the feeling she didn't deserve this, whatever 'this' might be.

"Let me guess. He fooled around with another woman, didn't he?"

She smiles then, and it's the saddest smile, the kind that just breaks your heart. "Actually, no. He really didn't."

She doesn't say more, and Ruth doesn't push it, respecting her silence. Finally, she's done, and she's actually quite proud of herself; it really doesn't look bad at all. Of course, the girl is naturally beautiful to beginning with, which means she could be bald and still look stunning.

She puts her hands on her shoulders, then, not asking her if she 'likes it' because it would be a very dumb question. "Do you want it red again?" She asks instead. "Or are we going back to blond?"

She smiles again, then, more warmly, and it lights up her tired face. "Actually, I was thinking neither."

* * *

N/A: OMG YES I DID IT! I CHANGED HER HAIR AGAIN HAHA! XD

Well, it's not hard to know what color it's going to be. It's not like she has a lot of choices left :p Oh, and in my head, the hairdresser lady totally IS the Cleaning Lady from 'The Abducted'. I just had to put her in, because SHE'S A HERO. SHE CALLED PETER!

Sooooo. Yeah. Pretty angsty, isn't it? I think it might be my favorite chapter so far! I MADE MYSELF CRY, and I'm just cruel like that haha XD

I was supposed to write one more little part to introduce the next chapter, but this one is already huge, and I have so little time to write and go online this week, it's crazy!

I hope you're still enjoying this :) Please, don't hesitate to tell me what you're thinking, it always motivates me so much!

Next chapter: Walter will try to get Altlivia's memories out of Olivia's head. I'll give you a hint: there will be water involved (and possibly Olivia in her underwear, but shhh I didn't say that!)


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